It was in our town--young Quainton, the banker. He
was about your age, married to a very pretty girl, and they'd a fine
baby. He was immensely rich, a strong healthy young fellow, fond of life,
popular, without a care in the world, so far as any one knew. One
morning, after breakfasting with his wife, he walked away from his house,
on the outskirts of the town--only a very small town, mind you--to go to
the bank, as usual. He never reached the bank--in fact, he was never seen
again, never heard of again. He'd only half a mile to walk, along a
fairly frequented road, but--complete, absolute, final disappearance!
And--never cleared up!"
"Odd!" agreed Viner. "Very odd, indeed. Well--any more?"
"Plenty!" said Miss Penkridge, with a click of her needles. "There was
the case of poor young Lady Marshflower--as sweet a young thing as man
could wish to see! Your mother and I saw her married--she was a
Ravenstone, and only nineteen. She married Sir Thomas Marshflower, a man
of forty. They'd only just come home from the honeymoon when
it--happened. One morning Sir Thomas rode into the market-town to preside
at the petty sessions--he hadn't been long gone when a fine,
distinguished-looking man called, and asked to see Lady Marshflower.
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