With loyalty as intuitive as her breathing Peggy pushed forward, intending to place herself at Elaine's side. Though the woman who had professed to recognize her had said nothing to her discredit there was something beneath her triumphant tone which suggested an unpleasant reason for satisfaction in the discovery. But to overtake Elaine seemed impossible. Her departure suggested a panic-stricken flight. Before her companions had reached the top of the long flight of stairs she had disappeared.
"Where do you suppose she's gone?" Priscilla, pushing after Peggy, asked the question with an intonation whose meaning was unmistakable. Peggy, looking up, saw her own questioning exaggerated into suspicion on the face of the other.
"I don't know."
"She must have fairly trampled people underfoot. Say, Peggy, I suppose you heard?"
"Ye-es." It was a most reluctant affirmative, but Priscilla was too absorbed in her own thoughts to notice.
"It wouldn't mean anything by itself. But when she sees she's recognized, and runs away, it looks funny. I wonder if she'll wait for us?"
In the throng at the door of the concert hall, the girls could discover no trace of Elaine. Automobiles glided to the curb as their numbers were called through a megaphone, and the people who block the sidewalks on such occasions, stood in chattering groups, unmindful of the desperate attempts others were making to pass them. But at length the crowd thinned sufficiently for the two girls to assure themselves on the point in question. They looked at each other, and for a moment did not speak.
"Well!" Priscilla's tone was dry. "She isn't here."
"No," Peggy was driven to confess, "she's not here."
"We might as well go home. I don't know what you think about it, Peggy Raymond, but it looks pretty queer to me."