“Oh, yes. I have written to Will Harcourt to meet me at Goblin Hall immediately. That means as soon as steam can take him there, of course.”
“Then I shall return to spend the last evening with you. Good-morning, my child.”
“Good-morning, good friend.”
The lawyer left the room.
Little Owlet, who had been sitting demurely on a hassock, nursing a black bull pup Tom had given her, now looked up and asked:
“What is it all about?”
“A dear, very dear friend, whom I have not seen for months,” replied Roma.
“So I thought, from what the lawyer said; but he did say, too, that somebody had been found. Now, nobody could be found unless they had been lost, could they?”
“Of course not.”
“Was it your friend who was lost?”