"She would not really unburden herself to me, Marcia is so reticent and self‑contained, you know; but she did admit that she was greatly worried. From the various things she said, I was able to piece out some facts, and you are welcome to them, although, I must confess that I think they throw very little light upon the matter."
"Do let me know them!" begged Hayden. "You know, of course, dear Mrs. Habersham, that I can not bear to hear of her being unhappy or distressed, and I should like nothing in all the world so much as to feel that I could be of some assistance to her."
"I am sure of that," said Bea sweetly; "but to go on. After her mother left the room, I asked Marcia if she were quite well. She looked a little surprised at the question, and then said: 'Yes, oh, yes,' but in the most languid and listless of manners. And all the time that I was talking to her, her mind seemed to be far, far away, as if she were working constantly over some problem, trying to think it out. To tell the truth, she really did not look ill; but just—well, just frightened. That is about the only way I can express it. She really looked frightened."
"But what could possibly have frightened her?" frowned Hayden. "Did she give you any clue?"
"None whatever. As I say, she seemed to be thinking of something else, all the time she was speaking to me of perfectly extraneous subjects, until at last, I felt that I was taxing her powers of self‑command, and that the kindest thing I could do was to leave her to herself, since she would not give me her confidence."
"Strange," murmured Hayden. "But don't you think it was probably some absurd or tyrannical action of her mother's that caused her unhappiness?"
"It wasn't exactly unhappiness," objected Mrs. Habersham. "It was more as if she had had some kind of a shock, and could not immediately recover from it. Of course, I am only giving you my impressions, but it was more as if she feared something, and this fear, whatever it was, grew instead of decreasing."
"Did you happen to learn how she had been putting in her time all day?" Hayden's mind went back to that telegram which had been handed Mademoiselle Mariposa at the luncheon the day before, the telegram from the mysterious man, a message of interest to both Ydo and Marcia. Could that have anything to do with Marcia's present state of mind? He recalled the puzzled and faintly alarmed gaze she had turned first on the Mariposa and then on himself at the conclusion of the luncheon yesterday, and instead of finding any light in these reflections, he seemed to plunge deeper into the darkness.
He shook his head slowly, completely perplexed.
"Did she tell you how she had put in her day?" he repeated.