Even as they laughed, there was a light step on the veranda outside, and some one cried Elsie in a tone of warm welcome.
Mr. Middleton had risen. "Shall I tell her who it is, or just send her in, saying that it's an old friend?" he asked in a low voice.
Her heart was beating violently. "Don't tell her who it is," she begged weakly and shrank back as he opened the door.
He closed it behind him and she waited breathlessly. She forgot everything except that she was to see Elsie. At the first sound she sprang to her feet, and as the door opened—not with Elsie's characteristic fling—she held out her arms.
"Elsie!" she cried, then started violently.
A total stranger stood before her, a pretty girl with a sweet face and long light-brown curls hanging from her neck.
"And who are you?" she cried wildly. "Am I mad or is this a lunatic asylum?"
For a moment the girl stared at her with sweet perplexed face. Was she another patient, then? thought the distressed woman.
"I am Mrs. Moss," she said in a sort of desperation. "Pray tell me who you are and where I am?"
All the pretty color left the girl's face. She stepped back and leaned against the door.