“It really is provoking,” I said, “when your friend feels more about your father than you do yourself.”
I went on reading my step-mother’s letter. She said that if all went well she would like me to return home for one week at Easter.
“By that time we can move your father down to Hedgerow House,” she said. “The fresh country air will do him good. He has been working for years far beyond his strength, and this is the result. I should like to have you with the boys and myself to spend our first Easter together, dear; so, although few of your companions will be leaving Bella Vista at that season, I hope to have you. I will write about it later on, and give you particulars with regard to your journey.”
I do not exactly know why this letter made me feel depressed. To have my father a little ill was not the sort of thing that would put an ordinary girl into a state of keen anxiety; but anxious I was, and depressed. Perhaps this was caused by my own state of weakness, for my cold had left me far less strong than I had been.
The next day, however, something occurred which put all thoughts of home and home life out of my head. Soon after breakfast Mademoiselle Wrex came upstairs and asked me to follow her to the Baroness’s private sitting-room.
“But why am I to go there?” I said.
Mademoiselle Wrex looked at me kindly. She came up to me and took my hand.
“I trust,” she said after a pause, “that when questioned you will tell the simple truth. A very painful thing has occurred. Fortunately the Baroness is able to nip it in the bud. It seems that you are suspected.”
I guessed what was coming, and I felt a cold chill at my heart. How silly I had been! How worse than silly—how wrong!
“I will follow you in a minute, mademoiselle,” I said.