“Good-evening, Mrs. Gibbons. Coming back from town so late?”
She looked up to see a friend approaching on the foot-path.
“Oh, good-evening, Mr. Ferris! No, I’ve only come from the station; I’ve been looking for my husband.”
He stopped half-way past her.
“Why, he came out in the five-fifteen with me! He slipped off when it slowed up, and jumped down the embankment; he said he was in a hurry to get home. Too bad if you’ve missed him.”
“Yes, it is,” said Mrs. Gibbons, hastily, breaking almost into a run. Arnold, she knew, hated to find her out of the house.
As she went up the steps now, the door opened before she reached it, and an excited voice exclaimed: “Ah, ma’am, it’s yourself at last! It’s the neighbourhood we do be having searched for you!”
“What do you mean, Katy?” Mrs. Gibbons, who had stood arrested on the threshold, pushed her way in. “Where is Mr. Gibbons?”
“He’s gone.”
“Gone!”