“No-o.”
“And the four hundred dollars hasn’t got to be paid back?”
“No-o.”
“Well then! why not happiness instead of woebegoneness?” cried the girl. “I am delighted. Only, Mother mine, I wish you had told me this long, long ago.”
“Why—dear——”
“I should have felt so much happier,” declared Beth. “So very much happier.”
Another thing happened that day besides Mrs. Euphemia Haven’s reception. Beth received a letter from Madam Hammersly. The madam wrote rather a queer letter, containing this important question:
“Is Cynthia Fogg with you in your town? I have received from her a Christmas present—expressed direct from Hudsonvale—a very beautiful lavaliere that could not have cost less than ten pounds.” Madam Hammersly steadfastly refused to think in anything but English money.
It was plain to be seen that Madam Hammersly feared her one-time parlor-maid had become possessed of the valuable trinket dishonestly.
“What do you suppose that can mean?” Beth asked her mother; but, of course, Mrs. Baldwin was quite as ignorant as Beth herself of the whereabouts of Cynthia Fogg.