Dibdin pretended not to observe my vagaries; when I returned I found him absorbed in Epictetus.
"This is rather good," he growled, pointing to a passage and puffing his pipe as he spoke:
"Have you not received facilities by which you may support any event? Have you not received a manly soul? Have you not received patience?"
"Yes," I muttered dejectedly, "all very well, but Epictetus never lost Alicia."
Dibdin laughed shortly. "Now," he said, "we must start out to find her. Though my feeling is she'll come back of her own accord very soon. The girl was frightened—no more."
I ignored the last part of his speech but leaped at the first.
"How would you start?" I queried sharply.
"What is the high-sounding name of that institution where she was brought up?"
"Oh, don't tell them, for Heaven's sake," I cried out in alarm. "If she is not there and they learn I have lost her, they'll never consent to my adopting her; they'll consider me irresponsible."
"Don't let's be fools," retorted Dibdin. "Those people are not. Do you know how many boys, girls, men and women turn up 'willfully missing' every year?" No, I didn't know.