“They’re gone!” he exclaimed, stepping inside the late taken apartments, and addressing himself to a beautiful woman, their sole occupant.
It was “Fan,” in a silk gown, somewhat chafed and stained, but once more a woman’s dress! Fan, with her splendid hair almost grown again—Fan no longer disguised as a valet, but restored to the dignity of a wife!
“Gone! From London, do you mean? Or only the hotel?” The question told of her being still in her husband’s confidence. “From both.”
“But you know where, don’t you?”
“I don’t.”
“Do you think they’ve left England?”
“I don’t know what to think. They’ve left the Clarendon on the 25th of last month—ten days ago. And who do you suppose has been there—back and forward to see them?”
“I don’t know.”
“Guess!”