“Did she leave no message?” he asked.
“None. She is such a strange girl; and lately, I am afraid, she has been, unhappy. I am going down to the station to make inquiries, and they fancy she may have taken the train to London.”
“It is very strange!”
“Strange? It is horrible! Oh, Charles, she has never been quite the same since her cousin came down here visiting. I thought that you were her choice, and I hoped you would some day marry her; but since young Hetherington was here——”
Santley, who had broken a little bread and drunk a cup of tea, rose impatiently.
“You women think of nothing but marrying and giving in marriage,” he said. “Well, I will go over and speak to Miss Russell. I cannot think that any harm has happened to Edith.”
“I hope and pray not. But to be-away all night—it is unaccountable.”
“Perhaps,” suggested Santley, more troubled than he cared to show, “she has gone to London.”
“But why go without a word?”
“I really cannot tell. Young ladies-take strange fancies; and if, as you suggest, there is anything between young Hetherington and herself——”