"I grew tired of the conversation," said Olive in a clear sharp voice; "it is so frivolous, and there is such a lot to be thought of."
"My dear, you must not brood too much over Trevanna's accident."
"I'm not thinking about Mr. Trevanna, but I am about Adrian. Where can he be? It is now a fortnight since he disappeared, and nothing has been heard of him."
"Oh! he'll come back again as soon as he hears Trevanna is getting better. I expect he thought he had killed Trevanna, and is keeping quiet."
"But now that Mr. Trevanna is getting well, he has exonerated Adrian entirely. They were both foolish, no doubt, but nothing was so bad as to make Adrian hide himself like this."
"Perhaps the advertisement you put in the paper will bring him," suggested Sir John, thoughtfully.
"I hope so," replied Olive quickly. "If he's anywhere in England he must have seen it by this time, but he seems to have vanished altogether. Why cannot your occult science discover him, father?"
"I'm not well enough up in theosophy to try any experiments of that nature," said Sir John, ruefully, "but I'll tell you who might find out where Adrian is."
"Some detective, I suppose," retorted Olive. "Nonsense, they never make any discoveries worth talking about, out of the pages of shilling shockers."
"No, not a detective," answered her father, quietly, "but a dealer in mysteries—Doctor Roversmire."