Ten
minutes later Cass limped by the door, stopping a moment in the pantry to
get a bite to eat. Quin sat motionless in the dark sitting-room and made
no sign. He was waiting for Rose, with a dumb dependence the strongest
man feels for the understanding feminine in times of crisis.
When he heard her cheerful voice calling good night to Fan Loomis, the
clock was just striking ten.
"Quin! What is it?" she cried in alarm the moment she saw his face. "Is
anybody dead?"
"Worse! She's run away to get married!"
"Not Myrna?"
"No. Miss Nell. She left to-night for Chicago to marry Phipps!"
"But she can't!" cried Rose wildly. "It's got to be stopped. He's not fit
to marry anybody! We've got to stop her!"
"I tell you, it's too late! She left on the eight-o'clock train."
"Who said so? Are you sure? Do the Bartletts know?"
"Nobody knows but you and me; nobody must know--yet. Maybe she'll change
her mind."
"But the Bartletts will miss her. Have they called up?"
"I 'phoned Miss Isobel that she was all right and she'd telephone in the
morning. All right! Good God, Rose, can't we do something?"
"If I could get Harold Phipps's address I'd send him a telegram that
would scare the wits out of him.
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