Mrs. Presbury felt that she was right. But, concealing her despondency, she said: "All we can do is to wait and see. You must send for your luggage."
"I've nothing but a large bag," said Mildred. "I checked it in the parcel-room of the New York station."
Mrs. Presbury was overwhelmed. How account to Hanging Rock for the reappearance of a baggageless and husbandless bride? But she held up bravely. With a cheerfulness that did credit to her heart and showed how well she loved her daughter she said: "We must do the best we can. We'll get up some story."
"No," said Mildred. "I'm going back to New York. You can tell people here what you please—that I've gone to rejoin him or to wait for him—any old thing."
"At least you'll wait and talk with Presbury," pleaded her mother. "He is VERY sensible."
"If he has anything to suggest," said Mildred, "he can write it. I'll send you my address."
"Milly," cried her mother, agitated to the depths, "where ARE you going? WHAT are you going to do? You look so strange—not at all like yourself."
"I'm going to a hotel to-night—probably to a boarding-house to-morrow," said Mildred. "In a few days I shall begin to—" she hesitated, decided against confidence—"begin to support myself at something or other."
"You must be crazy!" cried her mother. "You wouldn't do anything—and you couldn't."
"Let's not discuss it, mamma," said the girl tranquilly.