By the end of the month the family at Hilcrest wondered how they had
ever lived before they saw the world and everything in it through the
blue eyes of Margaret Kendall--the world and everything in it seemed so
much more beautiful now!
Never were the long mornings in the garden or on the veranda so
delightful to Mrs. Merideth as now with a bright, sympathetic girl to
laugh, chat, or keep silent as the whim of the moment dictated; and
never were the summer evenings so charming to Frank as now when one
might lie back in one's chair or hammock and listen to a dreamy nocturne
or a rippling waltz-song, and realize that the musician was no bird of
passage, but that she was one's own beloved ward and was even now at
home. As for Ned--never were the golf links in so fine a shape, nor the
tennis court and croquet ground so alluring; and never had he known
before how many really delightful trips there were within a day's run
for his motor-car.
And yet----
"Della, do you think Margaret is happy?" asked Frank one day, as he and
his sister and Ned were watching the sunset from the west veranda.
Margaret had gone into the house, pleading a headache as an excuse for
leaving them.
Della was silent. It was Ned who answered, indignantly.
"Why, Frank, of course she's happy!"
"I'm not so--sure," hesitated Frank. Then Mrs. Merideth spoke.
"She's happy, yes; but she's--restless."
Frank leaned forward.
"That's it exactly," he declared with conviction. "She's restless--and
what's the matter? That's what I want to know."
"Nonsense! it's just high spirits," cut in Ned, with an impatient
gesture. "Margaret's perfectly happy. Doesn't she laugh and sing and
motor and play tennis all day?"
"Yes," retorted his brother, "she does; but behind it all there's a
curious something that I can't get at. It is as if she were--were trying
to get away from something--something within herself."
Mrs. Merideth nodded her head.
"I know," she said. "I've seen it, too."
"Ah, you have!" Frank turned to his sister with a troubled frown. "Well,
what is it?"
"I don't know." Mrs. Merideth paused, her eyes on the distant sky-line.
"I have thought--once or twice," she resumed slowly, "that Margaret might
be--in love."
"In love!" cried two voices in shocked amazement.
Had Mrs. Merideth been observant she might have seen the sudden paling
of a smooth-shaven face, and the quick clinching of a strong white hand
that rested on the arm of a chair near her; but she was not observant--in
this case, at least--and she went on quietly.
"Yes; but on the whole I'm inclined to doubt that now."
"Oh, you are," laughed Ned, a little nervously. His brother did not
speak.
"Yes," repeated Mrs. Merideth; "but I haven't decided yet what it is."
"Well, I for one don't believe it's anything," declared Ned, stubbornly.
"To me she seems happy, and I believe she is."
Frank shook his head.
"No," he said. "By her own confession she has been flitting from one
place to another all over the world; and, though perhaps she does not
realize it herself, I believe her coming here was merely another effort
on her part to get away from this something--this something that while
within herself, perhaps, is none the less pursuing her, and making her
restless and unhappy."
"But what can it be?" argued Ned. "She's not so different from other
girls--only nicer. She likes good times and pretty clothes, and is always
ready for any fun that's going. I'm sure it isn't anything about those
socialistic notions that Della used to worry about," he added
laughingly. "She's got well over those--if she ever had them, indeed. I
don't believe she's looked toward the mills since she's been here--much
less wanted to know anything about the people that work in them!"
"No, it isn't that," agreed Frank.
"Perhaps it isn't anything," broke in Della, with sudden cheeriness.
"Maybe it is a little dull here for her after all her gay friends and
interesting travels. Perhaps she is a little homesick, but is trying to
make us think everything is all right, and she overdoes it. Anyway,
we'll ask some nice people up for a week or two. I fancy we all need
livening up. We're getting morbid. Come, whom shall we have?"