"And do you suppose," answered Mrs. Dolman, with a laugh, "that you will be more likely to find the children than the clever detectives who are on their track?"
"We can go to London and take a detective with us. Iris will at once feel happier if she is doing something. The fact is this: I am certain the inaction is killing her."
"It is an extraordinary plan," said Mrs. Dolman; "but after all, if it is the only way to keep Iris alive, I suppose we must consider it. But, William, I am the suitable one to take Iris and Apollo about. Indeed, why should Apollo go at all? He at least is in perfect health."
"The person to consider is Iris," said Mr. Dolman. "She will confide in Apollo when she will not confide in anyone else; and I think, Jane," he added, looking very strong and determined, "that she would rather go with me than with you." Mrs. Dolman flushed. "You know, Jane," continued her husband, "you have been a little hard on these children."
"Perhaps so," answered Mrs. Dolman, "and when I have tried to do my duty, too. But, of course, Evangeline's children were likely to be unmanageable; they had such extraordinary training when they were babies. However, as matters stand, I have not a word to say."
"Then, my dear, we will consider the thing arranged. We can easily get John Burroughs to lend us one of his curates for Sunday, and you will do all the rest. Now, shall I see Iris and submit the plan to her?"
"An extraordinary plan it is," answered Mrs. Dolman; "but perhaps you are right, William. At any rate, I have proved myself so completely in the wrong that I am willing on this occasion to be guided by you."
She rose from her seat, left the room, and went up to the schoolroom.
"Iris," she said to the little girl, "I want you and Apollo to come downstairs immediately."
Iris sprang to her feet; she grew white to her lips.