"Hermy," said she, "oh, my lamb, he's gone! You left Arthur in my care
an'--he's gone, an' it's my fault. Went away at five o'clock, an' here
it is nigh on to ten--an' him sick! God knows I've searched for
him--tramped to th' ferry an' back, an' th' footmen they've looked for
him an' so have th' maids--but Arthur's gone--an' it's my fault! So,
Hermy--my dear--blame me an' let me go--"
The harsh voice broke and, bowing her head, she sat silent, touching the
unopened packet of jewellery with one long, bony finger.
"Why, Ann--dear Ann--you're crying!" Hermione was down on her knees,
had clasped that long bony figure in her arms. "You mustn't, Ann, you
mustn't. I'm sure it wasn't your fault, so don't grieve, dear--there!"
And she had drawn the disconsolate grey head down upon her shoulder and
pillowed it there.
"But--oh, Hermy, he's gone! An' you told me to--look after him."
"Ann, if Arthur meant to go, I'm sure you couldn't have prevented him;
he isn't a child any longer, dear. There, be comforted--we'll hunt for
him in the car--won't we, Geoffrey?"
"Of course," nodded Ravenslee, "I'll 'phone the garage right away.
Pages:
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513