I'd be the one!"
"Unhand me, villain!" whispered Dorothy, giggling at the escapade. "I decline to be drawn behind the arras and carried to who knows what fearful fate!"
"No more fearful fate than to look at the moon for two minutes. It's marvellous from this balcony, shining on that little dark pool. Come and see."
Not entirely unwilling, Dorothy let herself be led out on the little balcony, and, to do Chapin justice, the moonlight effect was quite all he had claimed for it.
Dorothy knew perfectly well she ought not to be out there alone with Ernest Chapin, but a sort of reaction had followed her demure mood, and she murmured, "Just a minute, then. I won't give you but just exactly one minute."
"Then, I shall make the most of it," said Chapin, quickly clasping her in his arms. "Dorothy, my darling, I wouldn't do this, but I know, I know, you love me. You don't love Arnold! And, oh, sweetheart, don't marry him! Don't sell yourself for the Arnold fortune! Come to me, dearest, for you know, you know, you love me."
The sweetness and nearness of Dorothy, and the maddening effect of the moonlight, had caused Chapin to lose all caution, and, though low, his deep tones were clear and distinct.
A cold, hard voice followed his own:
"Oh, no, she doesn't love you, Chapin. You're awfully mistaken! She may be flirting with you—it's one of her bad habits—but she doesn't love you."
"I do," declared Dorothy, irritated by Arnold's calm statements and cutting manner.
"No, you don't, Dorothy. You're a little affected by the moonlight, but you're not in love with a man who is beneath you socially, and who, incidentally, is a coward, and a traitor to the man who employs him."
"Stop!" cried Dorothy, "you shan't talk so about the man I love!"
"You hear, Arnold," said Chapin, with a laugh that was a little unsteady. He still held Dorothy in his arms, and as Arnold stepped out on the balcony, the pair faced him.
"Go to your room, Dorothy," said Arnold, quietly; "I will settle this matter with Mr. Chapin."
"I won't go, Justin, until I explain. It isn't Ernest's fault I asked him to come out here."
Dorothy told her lie calmly, hoping to shield Chapin from the wrath she saw blazing in Arnold's eyes.
"And since when have you called my secretary by his first name? That is more than I do, myself."
"Perhaps he is more to me than he is to you!" Dorothy's voice shook and she drew closer to Chapin, who held her to him.
"I can say nothing, Mr. Arnold," he said, and his tones were clear and strong. "I deserve your scorn and reproach; I have acted the part of a coward and a cad. My only excuse is that I love the same woman you do, and she—"
"Yes," whispered Arnold, with dry lips, "and she—"
"I'll answer for myself," said Dorothy, suddenly, "I love you, Justin!" She left Chapin's side, and nestled against Arnold. Her perfect face, uplifted in the moonlight, thrilled him, and he put his arm round her. Then as suddenly he withdrew it. "You don't!" he cried. "You are only marrying me for my money! You are untrue, unfaithful;—a shallow-hearted coquette! You never loved me! you have deceived me with your false smiles and kisses, and as soon as my back is turned, you are caressing some one else! Our betrothal is ended. I cast you off! No Arnold has ever married a faithless woman. Go to your room. I will attend to this cur who has betrayed me!"
Ernest Chapin said slowly and clearly, "I will answer those remarks to you alone, Mr. Arnold."
"Yes; I think you will," Justin Arnold replied. "Go to your room, Dorothy. I will discuss this little matter with you to-morrow."
"Good-night, Justin." said the girl, in a small, scared voice. "Good-night, Mr. Chapin."
Neither of the men replied, and Dorothy, dazed at the situation, walked slowly to her own room.
Chapter VII.
Missing!
The next morning Leila Duane burst into Dorothy's room without the formality of knocking.
"What's the matter?" asked Dorothy, fixing her large, dark eyes on her friend's perturbed face. Dorothy's own face was not smiling. She looked a little pale, and seemed weary, as if she had passed a restless and wakeful night.
Leila looked at her silently for a minute.
"Dorothy," she began, "something strange has happened—at least, we don't know whether it's strange or not."
"Well, do you know whether it's happened or not?" questioned Dorothy rather satirically.
Whereupon Leila sat down on the edge of the bed and began to cry. "Dorothy, don't be frivolous," she sobbed. "It may be something awful. They can't find Mr. Arnold."
"Can't find Justin! What do you mean? Where is he?"
"Why, we don't know! Nobody knows. Only, he's gone."
"What nonsense, to get so excited over that! Justin's old enough to take care of himself. He's probably gone to New York to buy my wedding ring."
Leila got up to go away. "Dorothy," she said, "I advise you to stop talking like that, and I advise you to get dressed and come downstairs as soon as you can."
Dorothy rang for the maid, and proceeded to make a leisurely toilet. Though not given to questioning servants, she asked the girl what she knew about Mr. Arnold's absence.
"I don't know nothing, miss. I heard Peters say that Mr. Arnold wasn't in the house or on the place, but Driggs he told us all not to say a word to anybody, and, anyhow, I don't know nothing about it, miss."
"Never mind what Driggs told you,—you tell me all you know."
"Honest, miss, I don't know nothing."
"Then why is there such an excitement because Mr. Arnold has gone away early somewhere? Has he never done such a thing before?"
"I don't know, ma'am; I've not been here very long."
"What has Driggs to do with it, anyway? It's not his business to look after Mr. Arnold's movements. Why did he tell you not to say a word to anybody?"
"I don't know, miss, but he was that particular about it!"
"Well, you don't seem to know anything! Finish hooking my frock and let me go."
But before she left the room, Dorothy made another attempt.
"Cora," she said, coaxingly, "tell me what you know. I won't tell that you told me. I'm—I'm afraid to go downstairs."
"Well, Peters said,—but I'll be discharged if I tell you, Miss Duncan. Driggs said as how we should."
"Nonsense!" and Dorothy stamped her foot. "I tell you I won't let anyone know that you told me. Go on; what did Peters say?"
"He said as how Mr. Arnold has been gone all night, because his bed hasn't been slept in."
Dorothy turned white and leaned against the wall for a moment. Then she went to the mirror, scrutinized herself carefully, and turned to the maid.
"Do you think I look queer, Cora?"
"Not to say queer, miss, but sorta peakéd-like."
"Peakéd? I don't know what that means." And rubbing her cheeks, and forcing a smile, Dorothy went slowly downstairs.
She found everybody assembled in the living-room, with Miss Abby Wadsworth, as usual, conducting affairs.
Mrs. Duncan, with a very grave expression on her face, sat on a sofa, and made room for Dorothy by her side. The girl felt her mother's arm go round her, and she sat quietly, listening with the others.
"I