“No; it isn’t that. It’s the beastliness of the whole thing. It’s the disgrace.”
Miss Van Arsdale turned to the paper again.
“Your name isn’t given.”
“It might as well be. As soon as it gets back to New York, every one will know.”
“If I read correctly between the lines of this scurrilous thing, Mr. Holmesley gave what was to have been his bachelor dinner, took too much to drink, and suggested that every man there go on a separate search for the lost bride offering two thousand dollars reward for the one who found her. Apparently it was to have been quite private, but it leaked out. There’s a hint that he had been drinking heavily for some days.”
“My fault,” declared Io feverishly. “He told me once that if ever I played anything but fair with him, he’d go to the devil the quickest way he could.”
“Then he’s a coward,” pronounced Miss Van Arsdale vigorously.
“What am I? I didn’t play fair with him. I practically jilted him without even letting him know why.”
Miss Van Arsdale frowned. “Didn’t you send him word?”
“Yes. I telegraphed him. I told him I’d write and explain. I haven’t written. How could I explain? What was there to say? But I ought to have said something. Oh, Miss Van Arsdale, why didn’t I write!”