When Doctor Brinkerhoff came on Wednesday evening, he was surprised to discover that Iris had gone away. “It was sudden, was it not?” he asked.
“It seemed so to us,” returned Margaret. “We knew nothing of it until the morning she started. She had probably been planning it for a long time, though she did not take us into her confidence until the last minute.”
Lynn sat with his face turned away from his mother. “Did you, perhaps, suspect that she was going?” the Doctor directly inquired of Lynn.
He hesitated for the barest perceptible interval before he spoke. “She told us at the breakfast table,” he answered. “Iris is replete with surprises.”
“But before that,” continued the Doctor, “did you have no suspicion?”
Lynn laughed shortly. “How should I suspect?” he parried. “I know nothing of the ways of women.”
“Women,” observed the Doctor, with an air of knowledge,—“women are inscrutable. For instance, I cannot understand why Miss Iris did not come to say ‘good-bye’ to me. I am her foster-father, and it would have been natural.”
“Good-byes are painful,” said Margaret.
“We Germans do not say ‘good-bye,’ but only ‘auf wiedersehen.’ Perhaps we shall see her again, perhaps not. No one knows.”