As we walked back to the new town, dazed a little by our deep plunge
into the centuries, I heard my name called from across the street. "Miss
O'Malley--wait, please! It's Julian O'Farrell. Have you seen my sister?"
Brian and I stopped short, and O'Farrell joined us, panting and out of
breath. "She's not with you?" he exclaimed. "I hoped she would be. I've
been searching everywhere--she wasn't in the hotel when I got home, and
it's close to midnight."
CHAPTER XIII
I felt unsympathetic, and wouldn't have cared if Miss Dierdre O'Farrell
had flown off on a broomstick, or been kidnapped by a German aviator. My
heart, however, was sure that nothing had happened and I suspected that
her brother had trumped up an excuse to join us. It vexed me that Brian
should show concern. If only he knew how the girl had looked at him a
few hours ago!
"Couldn't they tell you in the hotel at what time she went out?" he
enquired.
But no! According to O'Farrell, his sister had not been seen. He had
found her door unlocked, the room empty, and her hat and coat missing.
"She told me she was going to bed," he added. "But the bed hasn't been
disturbed."
"Nor need you be, I think," said I. "Perhaps your sister wants to
frighten you. Children love that sort of thing. It draws attention to
themselves. And sometimes they don't outgrow the fancy."
"Especially Suffragettes and Sinn Feiners," O'Farrell played up to me,
unoffended.
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