And Sylvia suddenly realised that in truth Anna's letter did say nothing.
"I should have thought they would have had a telegram to-day about the
luggage."
"So would I," said Sylvia. And then musingly, "I should never, never have
expected Anna Wolsky to go off like that. So--so mysteriously--"
"Well, there, I quite disagree with you! It is just what I should have
expected her to do!" exclaimed Madame Wachner. "She told me of that visit
you both made to the soothsayer. Perhaps she made up in her mind to
follow that person's advice. Our friend was always a little mysterious,
was she not? Did she ever talk to you of her family, of her friends?" She
looked inquisitively at her companion.
"Yes--no," said Sylvia, hesitating. "I do not think poor Anna has many
relations. You see, she is a widow. I believe her father and mother are
dead."
"Ah, that is very sad! Then you do not know of anyone to write to about
her?"
"I?" said Sylvia. "No, of course I don't know of anyone to write to. How
could I? I haven't known her very long, you know, Madame Wachner.
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