Part 39 (1/2)
For an hour he paced the streets, trying to think things out. His burning desire was to go straight to Eleanor and lay the whole matter before her.
But according to his ethics it was a poor sport who would discredit a rival, especially on hearsay. He must leave it to Rose, and let her furnish the proof she said she possessed.
At eight o'clock he rang the Bartletts' bell, and was surprised when Miss Isobel opened the door.
”She isn't here,” she said in answer to his inquiry. ”We cannot imagine what has become of her. She must have gone out just before dinner, and she has not returned.”
”Didn't she say where she was going?”
”No.” Miss Isobel's lips worked nervously; then she drew Quin into the dining-room and closed the door, ”She and mother had a very serious misunderstanding, and--and I'm afraid mother was a little severe. I did not know Eleanor was gone until she failed to come down to dinner. I've just sent Hannah up to telephone my brother to see if she is there.”
”She probably is,” Quin spoke with more a.s.surance than he felt. ”About what time did she leave here?”
”It must have been between six-thirty and seven. How long would it take her to get out to Ranny's?”
”Depends on whether she went in her machine or a street-car,” said Quin evasively. ”Besides, she may have gone to the Martels'.”
”I don't think so,” said Miss Isobel, twisting her handkerchief in her slender fingers; ”because, you see, she--she took her suit-case.”
For the first time, Quin's face reflected the anxiety of Miss Isobel's.
When Hannah returned she reported that no one answered the telephone at the Randolph Bartletts'.
”Suppose the child gets there and n.o.body is at home!” groaned Miss Isobel, whose imagination always rushed toward disaster. ”What on earth shall I do?”
”Leave it to me,” said Quin. ”I'll run around to the Martels', and if she's not there I'll go out to Valley Mead. She's sure to be one place or the other.”
”Of course she must be; but I'm so anxious! You will go right away, won't you? And telephone the minute you find out where she is. Then I'll tell mother I gave her permission to go.”
Miss Isobel pushed him toward the door as she spoke:
”You--you don't think anything dreadful could have happened to her, do you?”
Quin patted her shoulder rea.s.suringly.
”Of course not,” he bl.u.s.tered. ”She'll probably be in before I get around the corner. If not, I bet I find her at the Martels', toasting marshmallows.”
In spite of his a.s.sumed confidence, he ran every step of the way home. As he turned the corner he saw with dismay that the house was dark. His call in the front hall brought no answer. He turned on the light, and saw an unstamped letter addressed to himself on the table. The fact that the writing was Eleanor's did not tend to decrease his alarm.
He tore off the envelop and read:
_Dear Quin:_
Grandmother has said things to me that I can never forgive as long as I live. I am leaving her house in a few moments forever. By the time you get this I shall be on my way to Chicago to join Harold Phipps.
We have been engaged for two weeks. I did not mean to marry him for years and years, but I've simply _got_ to do something. He cares more for me and my career than any one else in the world, and he understands me better than anybody.
You'll get this when you go home to supper, and I want you to telephone Aunt Isobel right away and tell her I won't be home to-night. She will think I am with Rose and that will keep her from being anxious. I don't care how anxious grandmother is! To-morrow I'll send them a wire from Chicago telling them I'm married.
Dear Quin, I know this is a terribly serious step, and I know you won't approve; but I am unhappy enough to die, and I don't know where else to turn, or what to do. Some day I hope you will know Mr. Phipps better, and see what a really fine man he is. Do try to comfort Aunt Isobel, and make her understand. Please don't hate me, but try to forgive your utterly miserable friend,