"Haven't a notion," he said indifferently.
"I wonder I haven't heard," mused Olga. "I suppose she hasn't written?"
"Not to my knowledge," said Nick. His attention was obviously still fixed upon the babbling water.
"Oh, well, she hardly ever does write," commented Olga. "And you don't know where she is gone?"
"I do not," said Nick.
At this point his preoccupation seemed to strike her. "What are you looking at?" she asked.
He nodded towards a clump of ferns that fringed the bank. "I thought I saw my friend the scarlet butterfly. There is a beauty lives hereabouts. Yes; by Jove, there he is! See him, Olga?"
Even as he spoke the scarlet butterfly emerged from its hiding place and fluttered down the stream.
Olga uttered a sharp cry that brought Nick's eyes to her face. "What's the matter, kiddie? What is it?"
For a moment she was too overcome to tell him. Then: "Oh, Nick," she said, "I saw that butterfly the last time I was here. It was fluttering along just like that. And then—all of a sudden—a dreadful green dragon-fly flashed out on it, and—and—I didn't see it any more."