She peered in at a window, but all she could see was some dishes piled on the kitchen table.
“Well, I do declare!” she said aloud, “if this isn’t a lovely way to receive an invited guest!”
Though unwilling to admit it, even to herself, Betty was feeling decidedly disturbed. There was a mistake somewhere, that was quite evident. She knew the mistake was not hers, for Lena had written careful directions about her journey, and had said the motor would meet the train.
Resolving to ring the bell again, Betty went slowly back to the front door.
The landscape did not appear quite so attractive as it had at first, and Betty was conscious of a queer depression about her heart.
“I’m not scared!” she assured herself; “I won’t be scared! They must be in the house. Perhaps they’re—perhaps they’re cleaning the attic!” Though not very probable, this seemed a possibility, and Betty pushed the bell with force enough to summon even people busily absorbed in work. But nobody came, and in despair Betty gave up the attic theory.
Half involuntarily, for she had no thought of its being unlocked, she turned the knob of the front door. To her surprise, it opened readily, and she stepped inside.
“Well, for goodness’ sake!” she exclaimed. “Now, they must be at home, or they would have locked the front door.”
Then she called: “Lena! Lena, where are you?”
But no one answered, and her voice reverberated in what was unmistakably an empty house.