"To-morrow," cried Clare, suddenly coming upon them, "will be the best day for our Portsmouth excursion, and mamma has sent me over to invite you, Mrs. Stratford, to spend the day with her."
"There, Martine, to-morrow is provided for. Tell your mother, Clare, that I am only too happy to accept her invitation. I must leave you now, while Martine relates the story of Angelina."
As her mother turned toward the house, Martine told Clare of Angelina's departure.
"You must find some one to take her place," said Clare. "You are thinner than when you came to York, and if you don't mind my saying so, you look tired."
To Clare's great surprise, her friend, instead of replying, shed a tear or two. But the tears were followed by smiles, as Martine exclaimed:
"There, I am almost as bad as Priscilla."
"But do you suppose that Angelina was right about the burglar? I wonder if your friend Balfour Airton has heard—"
"Oh, if the burglar has been caught, I am sure Balfour knows all about it. He was really very anxious himself to discover the fellow. If he is off duty, he will probably come over to see us this evening—at least if he has anything to tell."