CHAPTER VIII
AT THE END OF THE STRING
It was past midnight, that night, before the two girls could settle themselves for a wink of sleep. So bewildering had been Cecily’s revelations about herself and Miss Benedict and the conditions in the mysterious house, that they found inexhaustible food for discussion and conjecture.
The most interesting question, of course, was the absorbing mystery of how Cecily came to be there at all.
“Why should her mother have sent her there?” demanded Marcia, for the twentieth time.
“Perhaps she was a relative,” ventured Janet.
“That’s perfect nonsense,” argued Marcia, “for then Miss Benedict would surely have acted quite differently. If she had been the most distant connection, Miss Benedict would surely have told her. No, I should say she might be the
