Mrs. Davis tried in every way to cheer her up, but though she protested that she was not suffering, yet she could not deceive her friend who knew her so well.
"You are going to be happy, dear, and as soon as you are strong enough we'll make the voyage back. You didn't know I was going with you, did you? Well, dear," her sweet voice faltered, "I couldn't bear to stay here—after—after you were gone. We will all be happy when in America again. I believe that's what has made us all more or less gloomy. We have been homesick. Japan is all right, beautiful and all that—but, well, it is not America. We never could feel the same here." So she rattled on to Cleo, trying to take the girl's thoughts out of herself.
And then, one day, Cleo turned to her and told her very quietly that she knew everything.
Mrs. Davis gasped. "Everything!"
She looked at the girl's calm, emotionless face in horror. "And—and you——"
"I've known it some time now," the girl continued, grimly. She heard the other woman sobbing for her, and put her hand out and found the little sympathetic one extended.
"I know—know, dear, how you tried to hide it from me," she smiled faintly; "that could not be."
Mrs. Davis was mute. Cleo was an enigma to her now.
"I never guessed you knew."