"It's a mystery," said Patsy, almost ready to weep. "But I'll bet it's
that cruel, wicked father of hers. Perhaps he came while we were out and
wouldn't wait a minute."
"What does the hall porter say?" asked Kenneth, who had joined the group
in time to overhear the last speech and guess what had happened.
"Stupid!" cried Uncle John. "We never thought of the hall-porter. Come
back to our sitting room, and we'll have him up in a jiffy."
The portiere answered his hell with alacrity. The Americans were liberal
guests.
The young lady? Ah, she had driven away soon after they had themselves
gone. A thin-faced, dark-eyed man had called for her and taken her away,
placing her baggage on the box of the carriage. Yes, she had paid her
bill and tipped the servants liberally.
"Just as I suspected!" cried Patsy. "That horrid duke has forced her to
leave us. Perhaps he was jealous, and feared we would want to keep her
always. Was she weeping and miserable, porter?"
"No, signorina. She laughed and was very merry. And--but I had
forgotten! There is a letter which she left for the Signorina D'Oyle."
"Where?"
"In the office. I will bring it at once."
He ran away and quickly returned, placing a rather bulky parcel in the
girl's hands.
"You read it, Uncle John," she said. "There can't be anything private in
Tato's letter, and perhaps she has explained everything.
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