“If you’ll let the cabman take your luggage, I’d like to drive you home myself. I have something to tell you,” said Mrs. Kennion, making room for him by her side.
“Nothing has happened, I hope?” he asked anxiously.
“Miss Tucker is leaving for America to-morrow morning.”
“Going away?” Appleton’s tone was one of positive dismay.
“Yes. It is all very sudden and unexpected.”
“Sailing to-morrow?” exclaimed Appleton, taking out his watch. “From where? How can I get there?”
“Not sailing to-morrow—leaving Wells to-morrow on an early train and sailing Saturday from Southampton.”
“Oh, the world is not lost entirely, then!”—and Appleton leaned back and wiped his forehead. “What has happened? I ought never to have gone to London.”
“She had a cable yesterday from her Brooklyn church, offering her a better position in the choir, but saying that they could hold it only ten days. By post on the same day she received a letter from a New York friend—”
“Was it a Carl Bothwick?”