"Did she say anything about her stay at Glenfield?" inquired Mulgate, whose interest seemed to mount to the pitch of anxiety.
"Not a word; she did not even hint at Glenfield, or anything connected with it," answered Corny; and, after the sharp tones of the other, he seemed to take pleasure in thorning him with negative answers.
"Did she say anything about me?"
"Not a word."
"Didn't she mention my name?"
"She did not."
"Didn't she ask about my health, or want to know where I was?"
"Florry did not allude to you in any manner. If she wanted to know where you were, she did not say a word about it to me," replied Corny, in the most decided tones.
It was still light enough to see that there was something like a frown on the brow of Mr. Mulgate. He had evidently believed that the daughter of the millionnaire of Bonnydale was interested in him, and his inquiries indicated that he expected her to ask about him; but she had not made the remotest allusion to him. Besides, she was as jolly as she had been at Glenfield, when war was a matter of the future, which few believed would ever be realized. She had not grown thin and pale during her absence from him, and she did not appear to be wasting her sweetness in pining for him.
"What in the world are you talking about, Mulgate?" suddenly demanded his companion on his side of the fence. "I thought we were here for business, and you are talking about some girl."