That was all she said. That was all she needed to say. The trembling joy in her voice told them the rest. In less time than seemed possible Dale burst through the half-open door.
“Irene!” he cried. “Am I dreaming or is this my lost princess, my Golden Girl?”
“What’s he talking about?” Horace said gruffly to Judy. “Are they engaged?”
Judy smiled, watching their embrace. “Not yet, but we can guess they will be before long.”
Dale and Irene faced the others. Radiance was in their faces.
“It’s been quite a detective story,” Dale said, “and this is the happy ending. Now, Irene, dear, suppose we go out on the roof garden—all of us—and you explain everything. I’m perfectly sure you can.”
The others followed, eager to hear the story they had nearly given up hope of hearing from Irene’s own lips. It proved to be almost identical with Jasper Crosby’s story. Irene had not been forced to stay in her grandmother’s house. She had stayed of her own free will because the old lady was sick and needed her.
“At first it was fun, almost like playing princess,” Irene said. “I let her call me Joy and I called her Mother. I pretended to remember things my own mother must have done. I read aloud from her books and wore her dresses. This is one.” She touched the simple white silk dress she was wearing and explained that she had intended to wear it to her grandmother’s funeral. “But then Uncle Jasper decided that I must not go. He said that being with her when she died had affected my mind. I believed him then but now that I’m home again I feel sure that it wasn’t true. Still, there’s something like a magnet that just draws me back to that dear old house.”
“Your grandmother’s house?”
“My house now, isn’t it, Peter?”