"It was kind and courageous of you," Mrs. Gordon said warmly. "How many people would have done as much for strangers! And please do not talk about it any more or I shall be distressed."
Mrs. May was by no means sorry to change the conversation. A thousand questions trembled on her lips, but she restrained them. She was burning to know certain things, but the mere mention of such matters might have aroused suspicions in a far simpler mind than that of Mrs. Gordon.
"So long as you are all well it doesn't matter," she said. "This afternoon I shall make an effort to get up. Meanwhile, I won't keep you from your household duties. Could I see one of those charming girls, Miss Vera or Marion? I have taken such a fancy to them."
"Vera shall come presently; she has gone to the village," Mrs. Gordon explained. As to Marion she could say nothing.
"Marion has been an enigma to us lately," she explained. "I need not tell you of the dark shadows hanging over this unhappy house, or how near we have been to the solution of the mystery on more than one occasion. And now Marion has an idea, queer child.
"She went out, presumably last night, leaving a note to say she had really got on the track at last, and that we were not to worry about her even if she did not return to-day. So strange of Marion."
Mrs. May had turned her face away. She was fearful lest the other, prattling on in her innocent way, should see the rage and terror and despair of her features.
"Queer!" she murmured hoarsely. "Did she write to you?"
"No, to my husband's father. Her note was given to me. Even now I don't know what to make of it. Would you like to see the letter? You are so clever that you may understand it better than I do."