“You have the most unfortunate fashion, Sally, of saying things other people would prefer not to hear,” Alice Ashton remarked with sisterly severeness. Then, before any one else had an opportunity to speak, the living-room door opened and Mrs. Graham and Bettina entered.
“Glad you have arrived at last, Betty, we have been waiting tea for you and Bettina. I was just about to send one of the girls to find out what had become of you. Vera has made a wonderful lot of toast and we don’t wish it to grow cold.”
“Sorry to have delayed you,” Mrs. Graham replied, “but the most extraordinary thing has occurred. I am glad to find all of you gathered together here at the same time. This morning the young fellow, Allen Drain, who had dinner with us, brought me a collection of his unpublished poems which he wished to have me read. They were in a black leather portfolio about a foot square. When I drove to Saranac this morning I left the portfolio on a small table in Bettina’s and my bedroom. Since my return Bettina and I have searched for more than an hour and can find no sign of it. Did you, Polly, or any of the girls take possession of it? I cannot believe Aunt Patricia would be interested. Some one of course must have moved it. I don’t mean to be cross, but I think I should have been told. Bettina and I have had an uncomfortable hour of searching. Yet, whoever loved the poems better than I shall be forgiven as soon as they are restored to me.”
There was no immediate reply, Mrs. Burton, Aunt Patricia and the girls glancing at one another, each expecting the other to plead guilty.
“Well, confess, please, won’t some one? I am sure the poet would be flattered if he learned what has occurred,” Mrs. Burton added. “I am sorry, Betty. You should have come at once and asked, rather than tired yourself by searching.”
“Never a sign of the poet’s manuscript have I beheld!” Alice Ashton returned.
“I am guiltless, Mrs. Graham, but why did you not let me know so that I might have helped you look?” Marguerite Arnot answered.
One by one each separate member of the little circle announced an utter lack of information with regard to the lost portfolio, save Mary Gilchrist, who had gone on with her reading after Bettina and her mother’s entrance into the living-room.
“Mary, I wonder if by any chance you noticed the manuscript of the poems in Mrs. Graham’s room when I asked you to find a magazine for me this morning?” Mrs. Burton inquired.
Mary Gilchrist glanced up from the pages of her book, flushing slightly.