“Good riddance,” he replied sententiously.
We sat in silence until the bell rang, looking at the morning sun on the lake. I was a little anxious to learn the state of Farrar's feelings in regard to Miss Trevor, and how this new twist in affairs had affected them. But I might as well have expected one of King Louis's carp to whisper secrets of the old regime. The young lady came to the breakfast-table looking so fresh and in such high spirits that I made sure she had not heard of the Celebrity's ignoble escape. As the meal proceeded it was easy to mark that her eye now and again fell across his empty chair, and glanced inquiringly towards the door. I made up my mind that I would not be the bearer of evil news, and so did Farrar, so we kept up a vapid small-talk with Mr. Trevor on the condition of trade in the West. Miss Trevor, however, in some way came to suspect that we could account for that vacant seat. At last she fixed her eye inquiringly on me, and I trembled.
“Mr. Crocker,” she began, and paused. Then she added with a fair unconcern, “do you happen to know where Mr. Allen is this morning?”
“He has gone over to Mohair, I believe,” I replied weakly.
“To Mohair!” she exclaimed, putting down her cup; “why, he promised to go canoeing at ten.
“Probably he will be back by then,” I ventured, not finding it in my heart to tell her the cruel truth. But I kept my eyes on my plate. They say a lie has short legs. Mine had, for my black friend, Simpson, was at that instant taking off the fruit, and overheard my remark.
“Mr. Allen done gone for good,” he put in, “done give me five dollars last night. Why, sah,” he added, scratching his head, “you was on de poch dis mornin' when his trunks was took away!”
It was certainly no time to quibble then.
“His trunks!” Miss Trevor exclaimed.
“Yes, he has left us and gone to Mohair,” I said, “bag and baggage. That is the flat truth of it.”