Mystery of the Inn by the Shore by Florence Warden

It was about a month after the shipwreck which brought such strange consequences to the Blue Lion and its inmates that Clifford King, much against his will, found himself, for the first time that winter, at a dance. He detested dancing, never accepted an invitation to a ball if he could help it, and never turned up if he found himself compelled to accept.

But this entertainment was an exceptional one, being given in honor of the "coming out" of Otto Conybeare's youngest sister, and the mines laid for him had proved successful.

When he got to the house, however, he found the sight such a pretty one that he could not tell even himself that he was a martyr in having to come. The rooms were large and beautifully decorated with ferns and daffodils, "just like a church on Easter Sunday," as Otto said.

Clifford's attention was attracted early in the evening by the sight of a girl whose face he knew, who looked at him again and again, as if she expected him to recognize her, but whose name he could not remember. In fact, the more often he met her eyes, the more sure he felt he did not even know it.

Before long Clifford saw her speak to Otto and glance in the direction of himself.

"Now," thought he, "I shall get to the bottom of the mystery. " For he had had no opportunity of getting hold of Otto, or of any one who could tell him who she was. Otto came straight toward him.

"I want to introduce you to Miss Lansdowne," said he.

Lansdowne! The name was quite unfamiliar to Clifford. But as soon as he was introduced the puzzle came to pieces.

"I wanted so much to know you, Mr. King," said the girl, who was pleasant, unaffected and amiable-looking. "I can see you don't know me, and yet I know you very well."

"That is not quite fair," said Clifford. "I do remember your face perfectly well; it is your name only which is unfamiliar to me. I am certain I have never spoken to you in my life; you may be sure I should not have forgotten if I had."

"I live near Stroan," said Miss Lansdowne.

Clifford started, and his face clouded.

"I have often seen you about there," went on the girl, "and I know intimately more than one of your friends there."

"I have no friends there now," said Clifford, with a sudden change to grave bitterness in his voice and manner.

"Well, you had friends there at one time, I think. Miss Bostal and her father, the Colonel, would, I am sure, be rather hurt to know that you no longer reckoned them as your friends."

"The Bostals! Oh, yes," answered Clifford, indifferently. "I know them, but Miss Bostal would hardly reckon me as a friend. I lost my place in her esteem, if I ever had any, by walking from Courtstairs to Stroan on a Sunday in a tourist's suit."

Miss Lansdowne smiled.

"She is an odd little creature," she said, "but she has a very good heart. To hear her deplore the disappearance of a young girl whom she was fond of and kind to," and Miss Lansdowne looked steadily away from Clifford as she spoke, "no one could doubt the depth of her feelings."

Clifford was silent for a few moments. Then he glanced at the face of the girl beside him, saw that it invited confidence, and guessed that her last words had been carefully chosen.

"You mean that Miss Claris has disappeared?"