"The next day when I went back to lunch the whole house was upset. Miriam had gone out they said, and Clara wouldn't see me. The butler said she was packing. I hung around a couple of hours, and nobody so much as offered me a bite. At last I had to go away to get something to eat. When I got back Miriam had come in and gone again, gone for good the man said. He had had his wages, and was openly impudent. And she hadn't left me a line! The next day the whole house was closed up. I can't understand it! Did Clara write to you?"
"Just a line to say that she couldn't face the fag of a New York season, and was going South for a rest."
"Let me see the letter, will you?"
"Oh, I didn't keep it."
"What do you suppose has become of Miriam?"
"You can search me."
In his mind's eye Jack had a vivid picture of that final scene between Miriam and Clara. Figuratively the fur must have flown!
"I can't understand it!" said poor Bobo. "I didn't do anything to her. She has my address."
"Forget her!" said Jack.
"Oh, you never liked her!" said poor Bobo.