CHAPTER XIII
THE DISAPPEARANCE OF JOHN DENE
"No more Saturday afternoons for you and John Dene, little mother," cried Dorothy with forced gaiety as she rose from the breakfast table.
Mrs. West looked up quickly. "Why?" she asked, a falter in her voice.
"He's going away," announced Dorothy indifferently, as she pinned on her hat.
"To Canada?" asked Mrs. West anxiously.
"No," replied Dorothy in a toneless voice, "he's going away on business."
"Oh!" Mrs. West's relief was too obvious for dissimulation.
"He won't be back for months," continued Dorothy relentlessly, "and I shall spend my time in counting my fingers and flirting with Sir Bridgman. Good-byeeeeee," and brushing a kiss on her mother's cheek she was gone, leaving Mrs. West puzzled, more by her manner than the announcement she had made.
Arrived at the office Dorothy cleared up what remained of the previous night's work, ordered luncheon, tidied things generally, and then sat down to wait. From time to time she glanced at the watch upon her wrist, at first mechanically, then curiously, finally anxiously. For the last few days she had been more concerned than she was prepared to admit by John Dene's strangeness of manner. She was hurt that he should now treat her as if she were a stranger, whereas hitherto he had been so confidential and friendly.