Besides, the indictment that she, Janet, had
against her seemed to make the girl's affection absolutely
indispensable. And now Elfrida had apparently left London
without a word. She had dined in Kensington Square the
night before, and this was eleven o'clock in the morning.
It looked very much as if she had deliberately intended
to leave them in the dark as to her movements. People
didn't go out of town indefinitely "for the present," on
an hour's notice. The thought brought sudden tears to
Janet's eyes, which she winked back angrily. "I am getting
to be a perfect old maid!" she reflected. "Why shouldn't
Frida go to Kamschatka, if she wants to, without giving
us notice? It's only her eccentric way of doing things."
And she frowned upon, her sudden resolution to rush off
to Fleet Street in a cab and inquire of Mrs. Jordan. It
would be espionage. She would wait, quit calmly and
indefinitely, till Frida chose to write, and then she
would treat the escapade, whatever it was, with the
perfect understanding of good-fellowship. Or perhaps not
indefinitely--for two or three days--it was just possible
that Frida might have had bad news and started suddenly
for America by the early tram to Liverpool, in which case
she might easily not have had time to write.
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