"Where is your cousin this afternoon?" inquired Barbara, by way of changing the subject. She was almost as anxious as Marjorie, but she had been living at high pressure for so long, it was a relief to get down to commonplaces.
"I don't know," said Marjorie; "she was going out, but it rained so hard Aunt Julia wouldn't let her go, on account of her cold. Aunt Julia is very fussy about colds."
"Don't you think she would like to come in here with us?" suggested Barbara. "She may be lonely all by herself."
"I don't believe she is lonely," said Marjorie, doubtfully, "but if you think she might like to come—"
A ring at the door-bell brought Marjorie's sentence to an abrupt end, and both girls sprang to their feet.
"I'll see who it is," said Barbara; "it may be a message from Mother." And she flew to open the door, while Marjorie sank back in her seat, feeling suddenly cold and sick with fear.
But it was not a message from Mrs. Randolph; it was Elsie.
"I just came to ask if you had heard anything yet," she said, looking rather embarrassed, as she noticed the expression of disappointment on Barbara's face.
"No, we haven't," Barbara answered; "we thought it might be a message when we heard the bell. Won't you come in?"
Elsie hesitated.