With a slight bow of assent she moved on by his side to Cinthia’s room, where she knocked several times without receiving any answer.
With a sudden misgiving at the memory of the girl’s desperate mood that morning, she opened the door and looked inside.
“Good heavens, she is gone!” turning to him with startled eyes.
He answered sternly, rebukingly:
“She should not have been left alone. But, of course, I could not expect you to watch over her mother’s daughter.”
Her great eyes flashed in her pale face as she retorted:
“I certainly had no cause to love her, but I would not wish her any ill. We had better inquire about her down at the office.”
They did so, and were startled and mystified by the news that Madame Ray, the actress, had called on Miss Dawn that morning, and soon afterward took her away with her in the carriage.
“The lady is playing at the Metropolitan Theater. Perhaps the young lady has gone to the matinée,” said the polite clerk, wondering at their blank faces.
“Yes, yes, of course,” Mr. Dawn returned, unwilling to make his perturbation known. He turned away with Mrs. Varian, saying to her in an undertone: “I will go in search of her, and—you had better keep this news from Arthur.”