“Amy, of course he went to Chicago,” Anna Carroll said, quickly.  “You know there is no doubt of it.  He said he might have to go there on business, and he had carried a dress-suit case in to the office, to have it ready, and he had given you the Chicago hotel address.”

“Yes, so he did, Anna,” assented Mrs. Carroll.  “I suppose he must have gone to Chicago.”

“You have written him there, I suppose?” said Arms, who was evidently perturbed.

“Oh yes,” replied Mrs. Carroll, easily, “I have written three times.”

“Did you put a return address on the corner of the envelope in case he was not there?”

“Oh no!  I never do.  I thought only business men did that.”

“Amy doesn’t even date her letters,” said Ina.

“I never can remember the date,” said Mrs. Carroll, “and I never can remember whether it is Banbridge or Banridge, so I never write the name of the place, either.”

“And she always signs her name just Amy,” said Charlotte.

“Yes, I do, of course,” said Mrs. Carroll, smiling.

Arms turned to Anna Carroll.  “You have not felt concerned?” said he to her.

“Not in the least,” she replied, calmly.  “I have no doubt that he has gone to Chicago, and possibly his business has taken him farther still.  I think nothing whatever of not hearing from him.  Arthur, with all of his considerateness in other respects, has always been singularly remiss as to letters.”

“Yes, he has, even before we were married,” agreed Mrs. Carroll.  “Not hearing from Arthur was never anything to worry about.”

“And I think with Amy that Arthur Carroll is perfectly well able to take care of himself,” said Anna, further, with her slight inflection of sarcasm.

“I understood that he was going to Chicago, from something he said to me some time ago,” Arms said, thoughtfully.

“Of course he has gone there,” Anna Carroll said again, with a sharp impatience.

And then there was a whirring flash of steel past the window, and the fiercely hitching curve of a boy’s back.

“It’s Jim Leech on his wheel, and he’s got a telegram,” proclaimed Eddy, and made a dash for the door.

There was a little ripple of excitement.  Charlotte jumped up and followed Eddy, but he re-entered the room dancing aloof with the telegram.  In spite of her efforts to reach it, he succeeded in tearing it open.  Charlotte was almost crying and quite pale.

“Eddy,” she pleaded, “please give it to me—­please.”

“Eddy, bring that telegram here,” commanded his aunt, half rising from her seat.

“It is only from Arthur, saying he is coming, of course,” said Mrs. Carroll, calmly sipping her coffee.  “Arthur always telegraphs when he has been away anywhere and is coming home.”

“Eddy!” said Charlotte.

But Eddy essayed reading the telegram with an effect of being in the air, such was his defensive agility.  “He’s coming, I guess,” he said.  “I don’t think anything very bad has happened.  I don’t think it’s an accident or anything, but the writing is awful.  I should think that telegraph man would be ashamed to write like that.”