"Who was there?" said Enid, setting down her cup with a new color in her cheeks.
Miss Vane looked at her sharply.
"Oh, the nurse of course—a Beechfield woman, I believe, recommended by Florence! I saw no one else, not even the Jenkinses, who, I hear, have been most devoted to him in his illness."
Enid dropped her eyes. She did not care just then to ask any questions about Cynthia West. If Miss Vane knew the story, she evidently considered it unfit for Enid's ears.
"And now, my dear, what brings you to town," said aunt Leo briskly, when the meal was ended, and Enid had been installed on a comfortable sofa, where she was ordered to "lie still and rest;" "and how did you induce Richard and Flossy to let you come?"
"I ought perhaps to have told you as soon as I came in, aunt Leo," said Enid, sitting up, "that nobody knew—that, in fact, I have run away from Beechfield, and that I never, never can go back!"
"Oh," said Miss Vane, "that's rather sudden, is it not? But I suppose you have a reason?"
"Yes, aunt Leo, but one which—at present—I cannot tell."
"Cannot tell, Enid, my dear?"
"Not just yet—not until I have consulted some one else."