"But you can give a guess where he's gone?" Jeff suggested, with a
presence of mind which Westover mutely admired.

"Well, sor, I know where he do be gahn, sometimes," the man admitted.

"Well, that will do; take me there," said Jeff. "You go in and account
for me to Miss Lynde," he instructed Westover, across his shoulder. "I'll
get him home before morning, somehow; and I'll send the carriage right
back for the ladies, now."

Westover had the forethought to decide that Miss Bessie should ask for
Jeff if she wanted him, and this simplified matters very much. She asked
nothing about him. At sight of Westover coming up to her where she sat
with her aunt, she merely said: "Why, Mr. Westover! I thought you took
leave of this scene of gayety long ago."

"Did you?" Westover returned, provisionally, and she saved him from the
sin of framing some deceit in final answer by her next question.

"Have you seen anything of Alan lately?" she asked, in a voice
involuntarily lowered.

Westover replied in the same octave: "Yes; I saw him going a good while
ago."

"Oh!" said the girl. "Then I think my aunt and I had better go, too."

Still she did not go, and there was an interval in which she had the air
of vaguely waiting. To Westover's vision, the young people still passing
to and from the ballroom were like the painted figures of a picture