don't see how anything could happen to him, but I can't believe in a casual explanation of his absence. Can you?"
"No—if he were away on some errand, he would send word to me, somehow. He wouldn't leave me in suspense all this time."
"Unless he is angry with you," suggested Chapin.
"Well, if he is, Mr. Chapin, it's all your fault!" and Dorothy's eyes blazed with indignation.
"Then I'm glad of it," said Chapin exultantly. "If he's angry at you because he saw us together last night, and has gone away for that reason, I'm glad of it; and the longer he stays away, the better I'll like it!"
This speech did not seem to rouse Dorothy's ire as it should have done. Looking at Chapin gravely, she said, "What did Justin say to you last night after I left you?"
For a long time Chapin did not reply, and then when the silence had become almost unbearable he answered, "Nothing of any importance. And, Dorothy, be advised by me in this matter: never mention to any living soul that you and I were on the balcony last night, or that Arnold discovered us there. Will you promise me this?"
"Why?" and Dorothy's face looked troubled; "it may have been imprudent, but it wasn't a—a crime."
Chapin regarded her gravely. "Dorothy, dearest, I am very much in earnest You must not,—you shall not tell anyone of that episode. I forbid it!"
"I am not accustomed to being forbidden!"
"Then I beg it; I implore that you will give me your promise. Do, Dorothy, do!"
The man's intensity of appeal startled her. "Why?" she asked again.
"Never mind why. This mystery of Mr. Arnold's disappearance is not to be cleared up in a moment. And in his absence I am going to take care of you."
"What do you mean?" and Dorothy's eyes were big and frightened.
"Don't ask me what I mean! Just promise what I ask!"
"Yes,—I promise;" she spoke in a whisper as if hypnotized by Chapin's dominant personality. "Indeed, I have no wish to tell any one of that scene. I went to,—I mean,—I meant to tell Justin this morning that such a thing should never happen again."
"But it shall happen again!" said Chapin, and, though he spoke in low tones, his voice had an exultant ring in it that startled Dorothy.
"What do you mean by that?" she breathed.
"I mean what I say! I told you last night you should never marry Arnold, and you shan't! You are mine, mine, and, whether Arnold returns or not, you shall never marry him, but you shall marry me! Because, Dorothy, because—you love me!"
Disregarding the real tenor of his speech, Dorothy caught at a phrase.
"Whether Justin returns or not," she repeated. "Why do you say that? Then, you do think something has happened to him!"
"I can't say," said Chapin, speaking more gently. "It's a mystery, dear, a deep mystery. But I doubt if it is solved very soon."
And then Mrs. Duncan appeared, and carried Dorothy off to her room to rest.
"What do you think, Mother?" asked the girl, when they were alone.
"I don't know, darling. There seems no explanation whatever; but of course there must be one soon. Meantime, my child, I want you to be more careful in your behavior. You must not flirt with that Mr. Chapin. I know you don't mean anything—flirtation is second nature to you—but, my dear child, it won't do! In Justin's absence I shall look after you as carefully as he would if he were here, and I cannot allow you to play at love-making with Mr. Chapin."
"It isn't playing, Mother," said Dorothy, in a low voice.
"What do you mean by that, Dorothy?"
"I mean that it isn't playing, because it's real. I do love him, Mother, and I don't love Justin."
"Why, Dorothy, you do!"
"No, Mother, I don't. When I engaged myself to him, I thought I loved him; or, at least, I liked him as well as anybody. But I hadn't met Mr. Chapin then; and now—"
"Now you think you love him better than Justin! Dorothy, I'm not going to scold you, because you don't know your own mind, and you really imagine this state of things. But I'm going to forbid you ever to be alone with Mr. Chapin, and I'm going to command you to stamp out whatever affection you may think you feel for him. As Justin's' promised wife, your faith and loyalty are due to him, and I know you must see for yourself that it is unfaithful and disloyal to treat Mr. Chapin as anything more than a mere acquaintance and your future husband's secretary."
Dorothy nestled in her mother's embrace, feeling, as she always did, the loving security of it.
"But suppose, Mother, that Justin never comes back."
"Dorothy! What an idea! Of course he'll come back! Why shouldn't he?"
"Well, but you know it's pretty queer. He couldn't have been kidnapped, and wherever he is, he ought to telephone me—or—or something."
Dorothy flung herself on her bed, and burst into violent sobs.
"Now, Dorothy, sit up and be sensible. When we learn that something has happened to Justin it is time enough for you to cry like that. Stop it, now, and look forward to his return. Let me bathe your forehead with violet water."
"I don't want any violet water! Go 'way, Mother! I want to be alone."
"Well, you can't be. I won't leave you like this. You're unstrung, dearie, but a little nap will set you right."
Mrs. Duncan soothed Dorothy, stroking her brow gently, until the girl did fall asleep. But she woke with a start, crying: "Oh, what will Mother say when she knows!"
Mrs. Duncan was startled, but said, calmly, "There, there, dear, what were you dreaming about?"
Dorothy sat up, her eyes wide and staring, her cheeks white.
"What did I say, Mother,—what did I say?" she asked, a little wildly.
"Nothing of importance," said her mother, smiling at her. "Now, dear, you must conquer this nervousness, and get dressed. A refreshing bath and a pretty frock will make you all over. What shall you wear? Pick out a frock Justin likes, for I've no doubt he'll be home to dinner."
"Why, Mother, you speak as if he had only run down to New York on an errand."
"And very likely that is just what he has done. Now mind, Dorothy, no more flirtation with Mr. Chapin."
"I'll promise you that I'll never flirt with Ernest Chapin again; but until Justin does come back, I must have somebody to talk to."
"You're a little rogue," said her mother, kissing her fondly, "and as I'm here to look after you, I'm not much afraid that you'll do anything very dreadful. But I forbid you ever to be alone with Mr. Chapin for a moment, and I shall see to it myself that my commands are obeyed. Now you must get dressed for dinner, dearie. What shall you wear?"
"I don't know," returned Dorothy thoughtfully. "I don't feel like wearing bright colors, for it seems, somehow, as if Justin were dead."
"Don't talk like that," said Mrs. Duncan peremptorily. "Put on your rose and silver. If we feel down-hearted, that's all the more reason we should look as cheerful as possible. And probably Justin will come home to dinner, any way, and he likes you in that dress."
"He likes me in anything; but he doesn't love me in anything. At least, not what I call love."
As these words were half-muttered, Mrs. Duncan did not entirely catch them, and she went away to her own room, leaving Dorothy to decide on her costume for herself.
Chapter XI.
Flirtation