She might miss me.

Take it from me, Holt, back of all this modern stuff--deep in Bessy, and in every girl who has not been debased--is the simple and good desire to be liked." "Daren, I'll do that little thing, believe me," returned Holt, warmly.
Shaking hands with his friends, Lane left them, and went on his way.
White's place was full as a beehive.

As he passed, Lane found himself looking for Bessy Bell's golden head, though he knew he would not see it.

He wondered if Holt had really met her, veiled and in a hurry.
That had a strange look.

But no shadow of distrust of Bessy came to Lane.