Elaine was enchanted by this dramatic outburst.
“You never heard such a row!” she continued, with unction. “You know what mother and Aunt Sheila are when they get going. I feel sorry for the poor girl.”
“Where is she?” demanded Mandeville.
“Oh, she’s gone!” said Elaine cheerfully. “But—oh, here’s Uncle Lucian! Better and better! Poor Uncle Lucian! He—”
But Mandeville waited to hear no more. He ran up the stairs, to face his sister, and to find out where Miss La Chêne had gone.
At first he could find neither of his sisters, although he heard their voices. He flung open door after door, and at last he discovered them in the little room that had been Miss La Chêne’s.
Sheila Robinson was very busy there. She was emptying out the bureau drawers, ransacking the wardrobe, and unpacking a trunk. All over the floor lay Miss La Chêne’s dainty belongings—filmy little garments, shoes, bits of ribbon, a pathetic wreath of flowers from a hat. The sight of these things—her things—trampled underfoot, was more than the young man could endure.
“What are you doing in here?” he shouted.
“My bracelet is gone,” said his sister, “and I’m going to search that girl’s room thoroughly.”
“Clear out of here!” he ordered. “I won’t have it!”