“No, thank you,” replied Dorothy promptly. “We are not ready to leave yet.”
“Don’t stay on my account,” spoke up Urania suddenly, breaking her sullen silence. “I’ll be all right here,” and she glanced at the open window.
“But I shall not leave you—that is, unless I have to,” insisted Dorothy, “I brought you away from Glenwood, and I am going to get you home if I can to-night. There must be some way.”
The constable was waiting.
“Now I’ll tell you miss, since you seem so set,” and he smiled broadly at Dorothy, “I’m going back to see about—well to fix things up—” (Dorothy felt sure he meant he was going back to claim the reward,) “then if everything is all right perhaps we can take bail for her—you could get bail?”
“Indeed I could,” Dorothy assured him. “All our folks know and like this girl.”
“Well, it’s a good thing to have friends. And now I’m off—I may see you later in the afternoon, Miss Dale, and in the meantime let me compliment you—you’re game all right.”
Dorothy felt too grieved to thank the man for his rough compliment, and she only glanced at him as he left the place.
The police captain settled down near the door again. Evidently he did not care just what his prisoner did so long as she did not attempt to run away. He paid not the slightest attention to any of the girls, but sat down in that lazy, heavy way, characteristic of officers who have nothing else to do. He refilled his pipe and started in to smoke again as if he were just as much alone as he had been before the noon train came in with the interesting trio of much-perplexed girls.
“I think I had better go back to the station now,” said Dorothy to Urania. Miette simply stared about her and seemed incapable of conversing. “Do you wish to come, Miette?” she asked of the girl over at the door.