“Where is he?” I demanded. “Where have you and your plotting hidden him?”
“Who? Beresford?” he asked in a placid maner. “He is at his hotel, I beleive, putting beef stake on a bad eye. Beleive me, Bab——”
“Beresford!” I cried, in scorn and wrechedness. “What is he to me? Or his eye either? I refer to Mr. Egleston. It is time for the curtain to go up now, and unless he has by this time returned, there can be no performence.”
“Look here,” Carter said sudenly, “you look awfuly queer, Bab. Your face——”
I stamped my foot.
“What does my face matter?” I demanded. “I no longer care for him, but I have ruined Miss Everett’s couzin’s play unless he turns up. Am I to be sent to Switzerland with that on my Soul?”
“Switzerland!” he said slowly. “Why, Bab, they’re not going to do that, are they? I—I don’t want you so far away.”
Dear Dairy, I am unsuspisious by nature, beleiving all mankind to be my friends until proven otherwise. But there was a gloating look in Carter Brooks’ eyes as they turned on me.
“Carter!” I said, “you know where he is and you will not tell me. You wish to ruin him.”
I was about to put my hand on his arm, but he drew away.