Five minutes afterwards, the young man named Mears, curious to see
how Clara had been affected by what he knew she must have heard,
moved to another part of the room, in order to observe her without
attracting her attention. But she had left the place where she was
sitting. His eye ranged around the room, but she was nowhere to be
seen.

"I'm afraid we've hurt Clara more than we intended," he said,
rejoining his friend. "She has vanished."

"Ah! Where's Fisher?"

"He's at the other end of the room."

"We didn't say any thing against the young man."

"Not in particular. We made no specifications. There was nothing
that she could take hold of."

"No, of course not. But I wonder what is going to be the upshot of
the matter?"

"Nothing very serious, I apprehend."

"No. I suppose she will go home and cry her eyes half out, and then
conclude that, whatever Fisher may have been, he's perfection now.
It's a first-rate joke, isn't it?"

Clara Grant had not only left the parlours, but soon after quietly