The air was too sharp for her to stand at the window for long; she went about her bath and her dressing so as not to arouse Molly in the next room. She put on the dress she had traveled in. She thought she would wear that on Sundays. Then she ventured out of her room and along the corridors to the front stairway.
She saw nobody, nor did she hear anybody until she had descended to the second floor, and there, as she started down the staircase, she heard a mighty yawn from the hall below.
Beth peered over the balustrade. There was somebody stirring below and in a moment she caught sight of a girl in cap and apron, waving a feather-duster at the pictures as though she expected, by so doing, to conjure the dust off of them.
Beth went down quietly, intending to go out by the front door; but at the bottom of the flight of stairs she came face to face with the maid, and saw that it was Cynthia Fogg.
“My aunt!” ejaculated the freckled girl, smiling as though she really was glad to see Beth. “Isn’t this the greatest place you were ever in?”
“I think it’s quite wonderful,” admitted Beth.
“So many girls! I never dreamed of so many before—never!” laughed Cynthia.
Beth wondered what kind of asylum it was from which Cynthia had run away.
“How do they treat you, Beth Baldwin?” asked the maid, curiously.
“Oh, very nicely—those to whom I have been introduced,” Beth replied.