By four o’clock, poor Jeanette was quite frantic. She was crossing the lobby for the tenth time, when she caught sight of Jim Jackson standing before the desk. Running across the room, she grabbed him by the arm; and he turned quickly.
“Why, Miss Grant! What are you doing here?” he exclaimed in surprise. “I thought you were in Boston by now.”
“No; we didn’t go—we’re still here,” replied Jeanette, incoherently; “but”—her voice almost broke—“Nan’s gone.”
“Nan’s gone! What on earth do you mean?”
“Nan’s lost, I think.”
“When? How?”
“Since morning. She went for a walk, and——”
“In which direction? Do you know?”
“She spoke of going toward Lower Woods Harbor.”
The scene of their last ride together, thought Jim.