Was it because—could it be because—Mr. Stanley had gone away? For, after all, he was only a stranger; a pleasant—yes, a very pleasant—travelling companion, who had been very kind and useful to us when we were in his company, but who would think no more of us now that he had gone away. Like ships meeting on the sea, we had gone side by side for a little time, but now we had parted—probably near to meet again. That was all; it was nothing to be dull or miserable about. And I was quite angry with myself for having given way to the feeling of depression which had crept over me. I tried to think of my work, of Maggie, of our encounter with the Arabs in the tomb, of anything but of Mr. Stanley's mysterious disappearance!
But, somehow or other, I could not tell why, my thoughts would come back to it, in spite of all my efforts to turn them to other subjects. I could not help wondering whether Evelyn was thinking of the same thing. Why was she so quiet this evening? Could it be that she missed Mr. Stanley? Was I right in fancying that was the reason? Did she really care for him more than for an ordinary acquaintance?
I looked up at her, and found she was watching me, with a curious expression on her face—half amused, half inquiring. I rather resented it, I am afraid, and looked down again quickly, and went on steadily with my work.
"It will all come right, May, dear," she said, after a pause.
"What will come right, Evelyn?" I asked. "What do you mean?"
"I mean about Mr. Stanley's mysterious disappearance," she said, smiling; "I am sure we shall get a solution of the mystery in a day or two."
"Oh yes," I said, carelessly; "we shall have to find another dragoman; that is the only drawback."
"The only drawback!" she repeated.
"You don't think so," I said.
"You don't think so either, May," she said; "I know you don't."