"Yes, dear," she answered.
"Any one coming to dinner?"
"No, dear. Shall I ask one of the Welsh twins? They're always so sweet about coming."
"No," said John; "Stuyv and I were talking about dad, rather Marjory, and he's got a hunch that he's got to see you alone. Got to,—got to,—got to!" Cecilia did not understand, and was rather bewildered at John's laughter.
"Certainly he shall, John," she replied. Her heart beat in her voice. "Good-bye, dear," she ended, and heard the click of his receiver.
"Talking of Marjory" ... Cecilia turned away from the telephone and went to stand by the sea window of her room. She would help them both all she could. All she could.... She closed her eyes, for she felt sick and faint.
"How can I help him?" she questioned, for Marjory's letters had not held a mention of him, although Cecilia's had tactfully recorded his every move. She looked out on the world—it was grey like the frothing Sound.
"I will help them to be happy," she whispered unsteadily. "Father McGowan-dear,—I am learning. Some day I will learn to think of it, and smile——" Then she turned to dress.
Norah came in, and looked on happily. Cecilia was not vain after all. No, she didn't care which frock she put on, and she told Josephine not to fuss so over her hair, that it bored her. "What is the difference?" she had asked a little bitterly, and then to Norah she had said, "I didn't mean that! I didn't! What made me say it? I am not bitter, am I, Norah?"
"And why should you be," Norah had answered, "with everything in the world that money can buy?"