Miss Tibbutt took off her spectacles.
“But she is so bright,” she said.
Trix nodded emphatically.
“That’s just it. She’s too bright. Oh, one can overdo the merry light-hearted rôle, I assure you. And then, to a new-comer at all events, the cloak becomes apparent. But haven’t you the smallest idea?”
Miss Tibbutt shook her head.
“Not the least,” she announced. “I fancied one evening shortly after she returned here, that something was a little wrong. I remember I asked her. She talked about soap-bubbles and cobwebs but said there weren’t any left.”
“Of which,” smiled Trix. “Soap-bubbles or cobwebs?”
“Oh, cobwebs,” said Miss Tibbutt earnestly. “Or was it both? She said,—yes, I remember now just what she did say—she said that a pretty bubble had burst and become a cobweb. And when I asked her if the cobweb were bothering her, she said both it and the bubble had vanished. So, you see!” This last on a note of triumph.
“Hmm,” said Trix ruminative, dubious. “Bubbles have a way of taking up more space than one would imagine, and their bursting sometimes leaves an unpleasant gap. The bursting of this one has left a gap in Pia’s life. You haven’t, by any chance, the remotest notion of its colour?”
“Its colour?” queried Miss Tibbutt.