“Lena!” she called again, “Lena!”
But there was no answer, and, with a sudden impulse of bravery, Betty ran up-stairs and peeped into the first bedroom she came to. It was, without doubt, Lena’s own room.
She recognised her kimono flung on the bed, and her little Japanese slippers, which had evidently been kicked off across the room. Surely Lena had dressed in a hurry.
Cheered by these visible signs of her friend’s recent presence here, Betty went on through the other rooms.
She found nothing unusual, merely the sleeping-rooms of the Carey family, fairly tidy, but by no means in spick-and-span order.
In fact, they looked as if the whole family had gone away in haste.
“To meet me at the station, I suppose,” cogitated Betty. “Well, I’m here, and I can’t help it, so I may as well make myself at home. I think I’ll bring my suitcase up, and select a room, and put on a cooler dress.”
She went down-stairs more blithely than she had come up. It was all very mysterious, to be sure, but there had been no tragedy, and the Careys must come back soon, wherever they might have gone.
She paused again in the living-room, and sitting down at the open piano, she sang a few lively little songs.
Then, feeling quite merry over her strange experience, she went out to the front porch for her suitcase.