"Frances was now dancing with Oliver."
"But that quack medicine is very bad for your sister."
"I don't think so. She can't live without it. Doesn't she look lovely? Isn't she a beautiful girl?"
"Yes," I replied, briefly.
"And don't her diamonds flash? Don't you love diamonds, Halifax?"
"Yes, but not on such young girls as your sister."
"Frances always likes to wear diamonds; she doesn't mind whether her taste is peculiar or not. Let's come a little nearer to her, I want to be sure of something. Yes, just as I thought. She hasn't on her pendant. I suppose that has gone now."
"What do you mean, Rosamond?"
"Oh, nothing, nothing at all. I shouldn't have said it. I'm tired of dancing... I'd like to go to bed... Please let us stop... Good-night, Dr. Halifax. Good-night."
She rushed away before I could question her by another word.
Miss Wilton was the life and soul of the ball-room. The gay party did not break up until the early morning, and it was late the next day when the visitors who were staying at Holmwood met again round the breakfast-table.
As soon as ever I appeared, I was greeted with an extraordinary piece of information. Frances Wilton and her sister had left Holmwood by an early train.
This was simply stated with little or no comment at the breakfast table, but immediately afterwards my host and hostess took me aside. Mildred put a small note into my hand.
"Read it," she said, "and try and solve the mystery, if you can."
The note was from Rosamond, a childish production, and very short.
"Dear Dr. Halifax," she wrote, "I'm awfully unhappy, so I must just send you this letter. Frances has quarrelled with Collins, who won't do what what she wants. We are both going away, and no one is to know where we are going to. I don't know myself, so I can't tell you. Frances says that you are a horrid man; she says you have accused her of doing dreadful, wicked things. I don't believe you are a horrid man. I like you very much, and I am very unhappy about going away.—Rosamond."
After reading the little note I gave it to Mildred. She glanced her eyes quickly over it, then threw it, with a gesture of despair, on the table.
"Now, what is to be done?" she exclaimed. "Frances and Rosamond have disappeared. No one knows where they have gone. Frances was very ill yesterday. If what you say is true, it is extremely unsafe for her to be left to her own devices."
"It is more than unsafe," I replied. "Miss Wilton is in a condition when she ought not to be left for a single moment without a responsible person to look after her. Surely it can't be difficult to trace the sisters? Surely they can be followed at once?"
"Of course they can," said Onslow. "You always go to the fair about things, my love," he continued, turning to his wife. "A pair of children like Frances and Rosamond cannot lose themselves in these nineteenth century days. We can soon track them, and if we have a doctor's authority for taking such a step, it shall be done immediately."
