[CHAPTER X]
THE FILIGREE BRACELET
Aunt Minerva took off her silver-rimmed spectacles, wiped them excitedly, and put them on again.
"And she said she didn't know who the child was or why she was there? Well—I—never!" she exclaimed, adjusting them all awry.
Marcia had decided to tell her aunt all about it. And Janet had agreed with her that since Miss Benedict had spoken as she did, there could be no further occasion for secrecy. So that night they gave her an entire history of the affair, and found her a willing listener, interested and sympathetic beyond their wildest expectations.
"Why, Aunty, I didn't suppose you'd care much about it!" exclaimed Marcia, in surprise. "And here you are, nearly as excited over it as we've been."
"Why, who would not be?" said Miss Minerva. "It's precisely like a mystery in a book. I wasn't interested in the old place at first, because I was too busy and it seemed as if the people living there were such slack housekeepers. I haven't any sympathy with that. But what could she mean by that last remark? Not know who the child is—or why she's there! It's absurd! I can't believe it!"
"Well, that's what she said!" asserted Marcia, again. "And if any one ever heard of a bigger mystery, I'd like to know about it!"
Miss Minerva took up her mending again. "Then I don't see why she keeps the girl," she commented.
"She keeps her, I think, because she's getting sort of fond of her," reasoned Janet. "You can easily see that. Cecily said she was very good to her the night she was so ill. And then, too, it must have been a hard pull for her to go so far as to send for us to come in just because it might please Cecily."