Since she was not a party to Connie's small plot, Myra was left to infer that her visitor was ill, and she rose in sympathetic concern.
"Why, Mr. Bartrow! is anything the matter? Shall I get you something? a glass of wine, or"—
Bartrow shook his head and besought her with both hands to sit down again. "No, nothing, thank you; it's miles past that sort of mending. Do you—do you happen to know where your cousin is?"
"Why, yes; she has gone to Boulder with Uncle Stephen."
"I—I thought you were going," Bartrow stammered.
It did not occur to Miss Van Vetter to wonder why he should have thought anything about it.
"I thought so myself, up to the last moment," she rejoined.
Bartrow leaned forward with his hands on his knees.
"Miss Myra, would you—do you mind telling me why you didn't go?" He said it with reproachful gravity.