"Why did he leave so suddenly?"
"Why did he come at all?"
"What did he have to say for himself?"
"Was this rude, or only indifferent?"
"Don't bury me under such an avalanche of inquiry," said Winifred, with a little artificial laugh. "There really is nothing very mysterious about Mr. Flint's departure. He is not a flying Dutchman. I don't think he wanted to come at all; but he was afraid we might think [Pg 184] something had happened if he failed to appear. Ben, the fire needs another log. Mr. Brady, did you bring your banjo, as you promised?"
This was a master-stroke,—divert and conquer,—presto, Ben was off after wood, and Philip tuning up for alleged "melodies;" but I was not so easily put off the track.
"It took him some time to make his excuses," I said to her aside. She looked up quickly.
"You are too shrewd to be put off like the others, Miss Standish; but don't say anything more,—I'm so awfully tired."
The poor girl did look used up, and I knew she was longing to get home, so I coughed violently, and asked Dr. Cricket for my shawl.
"You are taking cold," said he.