Penny would have laughed had the matter not been so serious.
“Lorinda, you’re as superstitious as a little savage!”
“I don’t believe such a thing myself,” the girl denied. “But Mother apparently does. She always was afraid of everything remotely connected with cult practices. She never wanted my stepfather to have books on the subject in the library, yet recently I saw her reading them.”
“You said they disagreed about his interest in ancient cult practices?”
“Yes,” Lorinda admitted. “Otherwise they got on quite well together. Perhaps I shouldn’t tell you this, but two days before he went away, they had a violent disagreement. Mother wanted to discharge Antón and Celeste, and he refused. Then on the last day my stepfather was seen, Mother went to the bank to talk to him. She never told me what happened there.”
“According to Albert Potts, they had another quarrel.”
“I shouldn’t wonder,” Lorinda sighed. “And now Mother’s attitude toward Celeste is so changed—she actually clings to her. Oh dear, it’s all so upsetting.”
“You’re trying to take too much upon your shoulders,” Penny said kindly.
Conversation lagged. Lorinda could not throw aside the deep mood of depression which possessed her. Penny knew she no longer had an excuse to linger, yet she was unwilling to leave without asking a few questions about the thatched roof cottage.
“Lorinda, why did you try to keep me from visiting it the other day?” she inquired.