"Probably."
And Miriam turned away.
As she entered her room, Reuben faced her, standing close by. He looked miserably ill, the wreck of a man compared with what he had been at his last visit. When the door was shut, he asked without preface, and in an anxious tone:
"Can you tell me where Cecily is?"
Miriam laid her band on a chair, and met his gaze.
"Where she is?"
"She isn't at home. Haven't you heard of her?"
"Since when has she been away?"
Her manner of questioning seemed to Elgar to prove that her own surprise was as great as his.
"I only went there last night," he said, "about eleven o'clock. She had been in the house since her arrival the day before yesterday; but in the afternoon she went out and didn't return. She left no word, and there's nothing from her this morning. I thought it likely you had heard something."