"I suppose there've been quite a good many of 'em over there blaming him?" her husband inquired.
"Yes--until he telephoned to a garage and hired a car and went for a drive. He said he had plenty of money with him and didn't know when he'd be back."
"Serves him right," said Mr. Atwater. "Does anybody know where Herbert is?"
"Not yet!"
"Well----" and he returned to a former theme. "I _am_ glad we aren't implicated. Florence is right there with you, you say?"
"Yes," Mrs. Atwater replied. "She's right here, reading. You aren't worried about her, are you?" she added.
"Oh, no; I'm sure it's all right. I only thought----"
"Only thought what?"
"Well, it did strike me as curious," said Mr. Atwater; "especially after Aunt Fanny's telling us how Herbert declared Florence could never have a single thing to do with his paper again----"
"Well, what?"
"Well, here's her poem right at the top of it, and a very friendly item about her history mark of last June. It doesn't seem like Herbert to be so complimentary to Florence, all of a sudden. Just struck me as rather curious; that's all."
"Why, yes," said Mrs. Atwater, "it does seem a little odd, when you think of it."
"Have you asked Florence if she had anything to do with getting out this week's Oriole?"
"Why, no; it never occurred to me, especially after what Aunt Fanny told us," said Mrs. Atwater. "I'll ask her now."
But she was obliged to postpone putting the intended question. "Sesame and Lilies" lay sweetly upon the seat of the chair that Florence had occupied; but Florence herself had gone somewhere else.
She had gone for a long, long ramble; and pedestrians who encountered her, and happened to notice her expression, were interested; and as they went on their way several of them interrupted the course of their meditations to say to themselves that she was the most thoughtful looking young girl they had ever seen. There was a touch of wistfulness about her, too; as of one whose benevolence must renounce all hope of comprehension and reward.
Now, among those who observed her unusual expression was a gentleman of great dimensions disposed in a closed automobile that went labouring among mudholes in an unpaved outskirt of the town. He rapped upon the glass before him, to get the driver's attention, and a moment later the car drew up beside Florence, as she stood in a deep reverie at the intersection of two roads.