“It was fair to assume that you weren’t going straight home,” Eric laughed.
Ivy’s strangulated voice and expression of tragedy warned him not to laugh again.
“I—went out to supper,” she explained. “Aunt Connie told me she rang you up to know what had happened to me. So, if she says anything about it—”
She stopped in embarrassment at Eric’s look of surprise.
“I suspect you of trying to involve me in a conspiracy, Miss Maitland,” he said.
“Conspiracy?... Aunt Connie said that you were anxious and that you’d kindly offered to send out search-parties or something—”
“So you came in person to set my mind at rest instead of writing or telephoning! Your aunt was very anxious, I thought.”
“I’m afraid she was. You see, I hadn’t told her beforehand.”
Ivy tried to look him frankly in the face, then lowered her eyes and pretended to inspect the furniture and pictures. Eric turned away and lighted a cigarette.
“Did you know anything about it, yourself, beforehand?” He gave her time to decide whether it was worth while to speak the truth. “I don’t say I will be your accomplice, but, if you want me to be, you must tell me everything.”