"Then where are they?"
"I've no idea."
She sat still and stared at him, while he regarded her with a thoughtful and perplexed look on his face.
Mr. Conant is difficult to describe because he was like dozens of men one meets every day, at least in outward appearance. He was neither tall nor short, lean nor fat, handsome nor ugly, attractive nor repulsive. Yet Peter Conant must not be considered a nonentity because he was commonplace in person, for he possessed mannerisms that were peculiar. He would open his eyes very wide and stare at one steadily until the person became confused and turned away. The gaze was not especially shrewd, but it was disconcerting because steadfast. When he talked he would chop off his words, one by one, with a distinct pause between each, and that often made it hard to tell whether he had ended his speech or still had more to say. When very earnest or interested he would play with a locket that dangled from his watch chain; otherwise he usually stood with his hands clasped behind his back.
Mary Louise well knew these peculiarities, having previously lived in his house, and also she knew he was a kind-hearted man, devotedly attached to his deaf wife and thoroughly trusted by Gran'pa Jim.
"I was told," said the girl presently, "to direct all my letters to my grandfather in your care."
"I am aware that you have done so," he replied.
"So I thought, of course, that he and my mother were with you."
"No; they did not come here. Colonel Weatherby arranged for me to forward your letters, which I did as soon as they arrived."
"Oh; then you know his address?"