This time the captain did not laugh at her fears. Instead, he frowned and looked worried. "That does certainly seem suspicious. I'll have to look into the matter," he vouchsafed, and refused to discuss the incident further.
In the two weeks that elapsed after the foregoing incident, the friendship between the girls increased, after a fashion, but Patricia was at times sorely puzzled and perplexed by the strange moods and whims and actions of her new companion. On one day they would be in each other's company for several hours, visiting in the Meades' attractive sitting-room, where they read or sewed, or taking long walks or trolley-rides into the country. On these occasions Virginie would be almost clinging in her confidence in, and affection for, Patricia. Not the tiniest flaw would mar their intercourse, and Patricia would acknowledge herself more deeply interested than ever in this attractive girl. Then on the next day, perhaps for several days following, Virginie would seem distant, reserved, morose, sometimes almost disagreeable. She would pass Patricia with the coldest nod, refuse to make any engagement to be with her, and almost seem to resent any advances toward the furtherance of their friendship. Patricia worried and grieved about it in secret, though she would not openly acknowledge, even to her father, that Virginie's singular conduct hurt her.
Madame Vanderpoel, on the contrary, always seemed most cordial and friendly, and while she never commented on her ward's conduct to Patricia, would often cast at her a deprecatory and apologetic glance when Virginie was more than usually disagreeable in manner. Plainly, the girl's strange conduct tried her sorely, though she was always very sweet about it and ignored it whenever possible. Never again, since the first occasion, had she attempted to induce Patricia to accompany them anywhere or spend any time in their united company. Altogether, so thoughtful and agreeable was she, that Patricia, more fascinated by her than ever, often found herself wishing that she were at liberty to see more of this pleasant Madame Vanderpoel.
One rainy afternoon, Captain Meade having gone out, to be away till a late hour that night on a lecture engagement, Patricia called up her friend on the house telephone to ask her to come across the hall and spend the rest of the day with her. She did this in considerable trepidation, for Virginie had been more than usually morose and disagreeable and distant for a number of days past. As it happened, it was Madame Vanderpoel who answered the 'phone.
"Why certainly, my dear! Virginie will come over at once," she replied cordially. "She has been quite lonely this afternoon, and wishing for something to do. You are very kind."
Patricia had just begun to frame an answer, when, somewhat to her surprise, the receiver at the other end was suddenly hung up and the connection cut. The action was very abrupt. And though she told herself she certainly must have been mistaken, she thought she had heard, before being cut off, a voice in the room with Madame Vanderpoel declaring, "I will not go!" It was all very puzzling.
Virginie did not come in for some time, and in the interval Patricia framed a resolution. She would fathom this girl's singular conduct to-day or never, even if she had to ask the most personal questions to do so.
When the little Belgian at last arrived, she was polite, but distant, in manner, and distinctly unhappy. To Patricia's cordial remarks she returned only monosyllabic answers, was restless and ill at ease. They were sitting together on the couch, each pretending to be deeply engrossed in her fancy-work, when Patricia with wildly beating heart, suddenly determined that the time had come to put her resolve into effect.
"Virginie," she began, abruptly turning to the girl, "won't you tell me what is the trouble? What have I done to offend or annoy you? You are often so strange in your actions toward me. I cannot understand it. I—"