And now, may I beg to know," said the young man, with cool politeness,
"why you do me the honor to come and inform me?"
Miriam looked at him with her eagle glance--keen, side-long, searching.
Mr. Ingelow made her a slight bow.
"Well, madame?" smiling carelessly.
"Do you not know?"
"I?"--a broad stare. "Really, madame, I am at a loss--How should I
know?"
"Did you not meet Mollie last night at the corner of Broadway and
Fourteenth Street?"
"Most certainly not."
"Where were you at ten o'clock last evening?"
Again Mr. Ingelow smiled.
"Really, a raking cross-examination. Permit me to decline answering that
question."
"And you know nothing of Mollie's previous disappearance--of that
mysterious fortnight?"
"My good woman, be reasonable. I'm not an astrologer, nor a wizard,
nor yet a clairvoyant. I'm not in Miss Dane's confidence. I put it to
yourself--how should I know?"
"You shuffle--you equivocate!" cried Miriam, impatiently. "Why don't you
answer at once--yes or no?"
"My dear lady," with a deprecating wave of his shapely hand, "don't be
so dreadfully blunt.
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