[CHAPTER VIII]
AT THE END OF THE STRING
It was past midnight, that night, before the two girls could settle themselves for a wink of sleep. So bewildering had been Cecily's revelations about herself and Miss Benedict and the conditions in the mysterious house, that they found inexhaustible food for discussion and conjecture.
The most interesting question, of course, was the absorbing mystery of how Cecily came to be there at all.
"Why should her mother have sent her there?" demanded Marcia, for the twentieth time.
"Perhaps she was a relative," ventured Janet.
"That's perfect nonsense," argued Marcia, "for then Miss Benedict would surely have acted quite differently. If she had been the most distant connection, Miss Benedict would surely have told her. No, I should say she might be the child of a friend that Miss Benedict never cared particularly about, and yet she doesn't quite like to send her away. Isn't it a puzzle? But what do you think of Miss Benedict being beautiful! I can't imagine it!"
"And then, too, think of Cecily's not knowing there was another old lady in the house!" added Janet.
"What a darling Cecily is!" exclaimed Marcia, irrelevantly. "If Miss Benedict knew how sweet and loyal and obedient Cecily is, she'd be a little less strict with her, I'm sure. I suppose she doesn't want her to gossip about what goes on in that queer house. And, by the way, we must get our string in working order to-morrow. Let's send her other things beside notes, too—things she'd enjoy."
And until they fell asleep they planned the campaign for lightening the lonely hours of the girl next door.