She did not look sorry. She looked vindictive.
“I know,” said Helen, “I believe, Gage, that you could throw some light on all this. I don’t know that you could but Miss Thorstad’s parents should be relieved of anxiety if possible.”
Gage looked at his wife. Her eyes met his levelly, seemingly void of feeling, empty even of anger. Her resistance to pain woke admiration—then cruelty. So that was all she cared, was it? New woman—modern stuff!
“I do not know where Miss Thorstad is,” he repeated, “I think, however, that a girl with her strength and control is safe wherever she may be. She may think it best to keep her plans to herself for the time being—”
“You speak with curious confidence, Mr. Flandon,” said Mrs. Thorstad sharply. “This matter involves my daughter’s reputation.”
“From what I have seen of your daughter she is above gossip,” answered Gage. He turned to the other man. “I am sorry I cannot help you. I am more sorry than I can say that she was treated unfairly in my office and I shall do my best to adjust that. If I should hear from her of course you will be informed.”
Mr. Thorstad looked a little tired. He had perhaps keyed himself to this encounter and found it exhausting to have it end in futility.
“I shall pursue my inquiries, of course. It is not a matter which we care to have handled through any ordinary channels of search as we are informed by her that she left voluntarily. It may be that she will communicate with me to-morrow.”
An embarrassed pause came.
“Come, Adeline,” said her husband, still initiative.