Next morning I was stirring my oatmeal and water when the door opened and in burst Jack. His attire gave evidence of haste; he had thrown a pea-jacket about a somewhat incomplete toilet. I was about to summon up a jocular remark when something in his face silenced me.
"Have you seen Jean?" he demanded.
"No. Why——"
"She's not in her room. Gone. Was there last night—part of the night——"
"Sure she's not in the house?"
"Hard to lose her in our two-by-four, Frank. Not at the stables—I've hunted. It's snowing, and the wind is rising; there's no trail."
This was serious. Jack sat down, and, as though oppressed with heat, threw open his pea-jacket and exposed his undershirt.
Jean gone!
In a moment he sprang to his feet again and seized me by the arm. His grip was stronger than he knew. "She's not here, Frank? Straight now, Frank, she's not here?"
I turned my open palms toward him. "If only she were!" I exclaimed. . . . . . . "When did you miss her?"