The last faint beat of the retreating hoofs died away. An awkward constraint settled upon the party left at the Lodge. It was impossible to discuss the situation openly, yet it was embarrassing to ignore the subject in the thoughts of all. After a decent interval they began to drop away, one by one, from the group. India followed Moya, and found that young woman in her room.
"What are you hiding?" Miss Kilmeny asked quickly.
Moya produced from her hatbox a gray sombrero and put it on the table. "I didn't know it was you—thought it might be Lady Jim," she explained.
"Why wasn't I to tell Jack Kilmeny that he had taken Ned's hat by mistake?" India wanted to know.
"Because it wasn't by mistake."
"Not by mistake! What would he want with another man's hat?"
"I'm not sure about that. Perhaps he didn't want his own. You see, I had started myself to tell him about the mistake, but his eyes asked me plain as words not to speak."
"But why—why?" India frowned at the hat, her active brain busy. "It would be absurd for him to want Ned's hat. He must have had some reason, though."
"Don't they search prisoners before they lock them up?" Moya asked abruptly.
India shook her head. "I don't know. Do they?"