"No. Couldn't you find her, outside?"
"No."
"I haven't seen her since—since that dreadful scene on the veranda," said Sally. "Have you seen her, Roderick?"
"Yes."
"When? Where?"
"I saw her taking leave of Morton, when he went away," he replied, with such bitterness that Sally stared at him; but, wisely, she made no comment; nor did she attempt to stay him when he turned abruptly away from her, and walked rapidly toward one of the side entrances. But he stopped and turned, before he left the room.
"Sally," he said, "I am going to ask you to excuse me. I want to get away. I would rather not explain to the others—I would rather not attempt to explain to you. But I want to go. You will excuse me? and if those who remain should happen to miss me, will you make whatever excuse seems necessary?"
"None will be necessary, Roderick. Oh, you men! You make me tired! You do, really! It is inconceivable why you should all fall hopelessly in love with one woman, and utterly ignore the others who are—" She stopped suddenly. She had been on the point of saying too much, and she did not wish to utter words she would be sorry for, afterward. Duncan did not attempt any reply, and was turning away a second time, when she called after him: "If you would only be really sensible, and—"
"And what, Sally?" he asked her, when she again hesitated.
"Nothing."