"Ah, you jest, madame!" haughtily.
"I do not. She was mistaken, it appears, but she really thought it might be you. To make sure, she found means of communicating with this strange man, and a meeting was appointed for last night, ten o'clock, corner of Broadway and Fourteenth Street".
"Yes! Well?"
"Mollie went, still thinking—perhaps I should say hoping—it might be you, Mr. Ingelow: and I, too, was there."
"Well?"
"Mollie did not see me. I hovered aloof. It was only half past nine when she came—half an hour too early—but already a carriage was waiting, and a man, disguised in hat and cloak and flowing beard, stepped forward and accosted her at once. What he said to her I don't know, but he persuaded her, evidently with reluctance, to enter the carriage with him. The rain was pouring. I suppose that was why she went. In a moment the coachman had whipped up the horses, and they were off like a flash."
Miriam paused. Mr. Ingelow sat staring at her with a face of pale amaze.
"It sounds like a scene from a melodrama. And Miss Dane has not returned since?"
"No; and the household on Fifth Avenue are at their wits' end to comprehend it."
"And so am I," said the artist. "From what you say, it is evident she went willingly—of her own accord. In such a case, of course, I can do nothing."