"Well, good-by everybody. Isn't that lazy dog Bobby down yet?" Sir William demanded.
"He's where he always is these days," answered Madge; "gone off to Glenfallon."
"Wrong!" Bobby was striding into the hall by the side door. He looked rather glum for Bobby.
"Find your friends out of sorts?" Sir William inquired, with his shrewd look. "Nasty jar for Carl and Ernst, opening their newspapers this morning." Sir William was not forgetting to keep an eye on the private case and the summer mackintosh on their way into the car. "Well, what do they think about the war now? Eh, what?"
"I don't suppose I shall ever know what they think," his son answered.
"I can't think why you say that, dear," his mother remonstrated. "I don't find them at all reserved. They talk with perfect freedom to me."
"Well, they won't any more. They're gone," said Bobby.
"Gone where?"
"I don't know. And, what's more, the caretaker doesn't know."
"You don't mean to say they've gone for good?" Madge sounded a sharp regret.