Phebe stooped down shyly and kissed the small hand, her face all aglow with smiles and blushes.
"Felicita," said Madame, her voice altering a little, "where is my son this morning ?" "Roland!" she repeated absently; "Roland?
Didn't he say last night he was going to London ?" "To London!" exclaimed his mother.
"Yes," she answered, "he bade me good-by last night; I remember now.

He said he would not disturb me again; he was going by the mail-train.

He was sorry to be away on poor little Felix's birthday.

I recollect quite distinctly now." "He said not one word to me," said Madame.

"It is strange." "Very strange," asserted Felicita languidly, as if she were wandering away again into the reverie they had broken in upon.
"Did he say when he would be back ?" asked his mother.
"In a few days, of course," she answered.
"But he has not told Acton," resumed Madame.
"Who did you say ?" inquired Felicita.
"The head clerk, the manager when Roland is away," she said.