“It would be too cruel if any harm befell him”—Florence's voice quivered as she spoke—“at this time, of all times. It would be the crowning misfortune.”
“I don't think destiny means to play any such vile trick, Miss Kenby.”
“I don't see how Heaven could allow it,” said Florence, earnestly.
“Well, he's simply got to be found. So I'm off to Mrs. Haze. I can go tea-less this time, thank you. Is there anything I can do for you on the way?”
“I'll have to send father a message about my staying here. If you would stop at a telegraph-office—”
“Oh, that's all right,” broke in Edna. “There's a call-box down-stairs. I'll have the hall-boy attend to it. You mustn't lose a minute, Tom.”
Miss Hill sped him on his way by going with him to the elevator. While they waited for that, she asked, cautiously:
“Is there anything about this affair that you were afraid to say before Florence?”
A thought of the twenty thousand dollars came into his head; but again he felt that the circumstance of the money was his friend's secret, and should be treated by him—for the present, at least—as non-existent.
“No,” he replied. “I wouldn't call it a disappearance, if I were you. So far, it's just a non-appearance. We shall soon be laughing at ourselves, probably, for having been at all worked up over it.—She's a lovely girl, isn't she? I'm half in love with her myself.”