"Why, Evan, you look ghostly!"
"Or I would not be here," said Evan Lamotte, bitterly. "Evan, the ne'er-do-well, does not seek his friends when the sun shines. Eh, Conny? Don't go in," laying one hand upon her arm, as she was about to turn toward the house, "I—I came to talk with you."
"But you will come in, Evan?"
"No, I should fall out with your old cat—I beg pardon, Con., I mean your old aunt, directly."
"Aunt Honor shut herself in her own room an hour ago, child; she has been worn out with too much excitement. We have had a detective here all the morning, not to mention Frank, who has made a wonderful discovery."
"I dare say," muttered the young fellow, dryly, "Frank will make another wonderful discovery soon. Conny," clutching at her arm again, "have you heard?"
"Have I heard what, Evan?"
"About Sybil—my sister," his voice broke, ending in a sob.