am and handed it to the Squire, searching
his face as he read it. "What, the devil!" exclaimed the Squire, and
handed it to Dick.

The big clock in the hall began to strike. Porter threw open the door
again. "Dinner is served, ma'am," he said.

"You needn't send down to the dower-house," Dick said, raising his eyes
from the paper. "Miss Clinton has gone up to stay with Mrs. Walter."
Then he offered his arm to his mother to lead her out of the room.

"Shut the door," shouted the Squire, and the door was shut. "What on
earth does it mean?" he asked, in angry amazement.

"Better have gone in to dinner," said Dick. "I don't know."

Mrs. Clinton was white, and said nothing. The Squire turned to her.
"What does it mean, Nina?" he asked again. "Did you know anything about
this?"

"Of course mother didn't know," said Dick. "There's something queer.
It's too late to send a wire. I'll go up by the eleven o'clock train and
find out all about it. Better go in now." He laid the telegram
carelessly on a table.

"Don't leave it about," said the Squire.

"Better leave it there," said Dick, and offered his arm to his mother
again.

They went into the dining-room, only a minute late.

"Tell Higgs to pack me a bag for two nights," said Dick when the Squire
had mumbled a grace, "and order my cart for ten o'clock. I'm going up to
London. I shan't want anybody."

Then, as long as the servants were in the room they talked as usual. At
least Dick did, with frequent mention of Walter and Muriel and some of
Cicely. The Squire responded to him as well as he was able, and Mrs.
Clinton said nothing at all. But that was nothing unusual.

When they were alone at last, the Squire burst out, but in a low voice,
"What on earth does it mean? Tell me what it means, Dick."

"She hasn't had a row with any one, has she, mother?" asked Dick,
cracking a walnut.

Mrs. Clinton moistened her lips. "With whom?" she asked.

"I know it's very unlikely. I suppose she's got some maggot in her head.
Misunderstood, or something. You never know what girls are going to do
next. She _has_ been rather mopy lately. I've noticed it."

"She has not seen Muriel since she was married," said Mrs. Clinton. "She
has missed her."

"Pah!" spluttered the Squire. "How dare she go off like that without a
word? What on earth can you have been thinking of to let her, Nina? And
what was Miles doing? Miles must have packed her boxes. And who drove
her to the station? W