"No," said Ellen, suddenly flushed. "Never."
Her coolness, which he had liked and praised, was gone; but he liked her none the less, looking at her and wondering about her. What so suddenly had excited her?
Ellen was awakened from her fancy of the shade and rest with Jay. Lew Alban loomed before her; and, what of Jay's wife?
Of her, he said nothing at all; and Mr. Rountree refrained from all reference to Lida. No one mentioned her; she had vanished from the news.
Occasionally Ellen bought New York papers and searched the accounts of society for some hint of Mrs. Jay Rountree's whereabouts, but in vain; for Lida had dropped from notice in New York, quietly slipping off at a season when so many people of importance disappeared for all sorts of reasons and to all sorts of destinations. Indeed, it was a season when to remain in sight would stir comment. It was summer.
Jay knew that she had gone with her mother to Maine and he supposed that she stayed there until, wiring that he was coming on, he received a telegram from Mrs. Lytle telling him to await letters. One from Lida and one from her mother arrived together. Lida had departed, alone with a maid; she would communicate with her mother; she asked Jay not to seek her or make inquiry for her, promising him in return that she would send for him when she wanted him.
Mrs. Lytle emphasized that Lida required of him only no interference for the present and that nothing could be more tragic than an act of his which directed attention to Lida's hiding.
