But was she now in league against Rosa? That is, of course, from an outside viewpoint. There could be no doubt of her action having sprung from the most honorable motives. She was doing a very distasteful thing, just to protect Rosa, if possible, from Orilla’s secret influence. Yet, this would be hard to understand, and Nancy knew that it would be particularly hard for Rosa to understand.
“Well,” she sighed to herself finally, as the last faint echo of that almost silent step had died away down the long hardwood hall, “we’ll see what comes of it. But I didn’t know what else to do.”
She stood for a moment at the door of Rosa’s room as she left it. It was a beautiful room; so much softness, such lovely silky things all about, and the glow of the bird’s-eye maple furniture stood out even in that subdued light.
And yet—!
How empty it was! How it lacked personality! Even a certain untidiness which Nancy always remembered as a part of Ted’s humble little room was, after all, so personal, so Teddy-like!
The cape lay on the chair. It was a beautiful cape, but now instead of being merely beautiful to Nancy’s critical eye, it was the symbol of something to be dreaded, to be careful about, and to hold as secret!
Just as she turned to enter the room which was now hers, Nancy pulled up sharply at the sound of another step.
“Is that you, Nancy?” It was Margot who put the question, and the sight of her was indeed welcome to the perturbed girl.
“Oh, yes, Margot,” she replied, assuming as much ease as she could command, “I was getting a book from Rosa’s room. I’m going to spend a whole evening reading.”
The woman, who was more than a maid yet less than a relative, laid her white hand upon Nancy’s arm.