Mrs. Merideth nodded her head.
“I know,” she said. “I’ve seen it, too.”
“Ah, you have!” Frank turned to his sister with a troubled frown. “Well, what is it?”
“I don’t know.” Mrs. Merideth paused, her eyes on the distant sky-line. “I have thought—once or twice,” she resumed slowly, “that Margaret might be—in love.”
“In love!” cried two voices in shocked amazement.
Had Mrs. Merideth been observant she might have seen the sudden paling of a smooth-shaven face, and the quick clinching of a strong white hand that rested on the arm of a chair near her; but she was not observant—in this case, at least—and she went on quietly.
“Yes; but on the whole I’m inclined to doubt that now.”
“Oh, you are,” laughed Ned, a little nervously. His brother did not speak.
“Yes,” repeated Mrs. Merideth; “but I haven’t decided yet what it is.”
“Well, I for one don’t believe it’s anything,” declared Ned, stubbornly. “To me she seems happy, and I believe she is.”