"Where do
you live, and where are you going?"
When Dorothy told him he looked very much surprised, and at the same
time interested, and before she knew what she was about, he had drawn
from her the whole story, and the more she told him the more surprised
and interested he became.
"What was the name of the friend who failed your father?" he said at
last, but Dorothy could not remember.
"Was it Pemberton?" he suggested.
"Oh, yes, Mr. Pemberton," said Dorothy. "At least, Dick said so."
"You don't happen to be _Addiscombe_ Graham's little daughter," he said
with a queer look, "do you?"
"Father's name is Richard Addiscombe," said Dorothy doubtfully.
"Well, the best thing you can do now is to come home with me and get
some breakfast," he said. "It is no use going to the Park, for I have
just been to the station, and Miss Addiscombe was there, with all her
luggage, going off to the Continent."
Poor Dorothy's heart sank like lead.
"Oh, dear!" she said, "then it's been no use. Poor father!" and her eyes
filled with tears.
The gentleman did not speak, and in a few minutes they drove in at the
gates of a beautiful country house, and he lifted her down and took her
in with him, calling out "Elizabeth!"
A tall girl, about eighteen, came running to him, and after whispering
to her for a minute, he left Dorothy in her charge, and went into the
room where his wife was sitting.
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