"But—but—"
"Sometimes it's just as well not to tell all you know—especially in a place like this," was the evasive response.
Was the reply a rebuke or merely a caution?
Sylvia did not know.
And what was the meaning of the rose color that flooded the elder woman's cheek?
Had Marcia really meant to give the impression that she knew Stanley Heath? And if so, why?
Sylvia wracked her brain for answers to these questions.
Why, only an hour before, she and Marcia had been on the frankest footing imaginable. Now, like a sea-turn, had come a swift, inexplicable change whose cause she was at a loss to understand and which had rendered her aunt as remote as the farthest star.
Sylvia would have been interested indeed had she known that while she wrestled with the enigma, Marcia, to all appearances busy preparing the tray for the invalid upstairs, was searching her heart for answers to the same questions.