"There was no dust on the top of the bureau; it had been wiped off to-day. There was no dust on that veil; it hadn’t been there since yesterday. A woman fixed herself at that glass not so long ago. Price had a date with her to deliver the child and he was lying on the bed reading while he waited. When he heard her he threw down the book, got the good word and lit out. After he’d gone she took off her veil—what for? To get her face up to show to Mrs. Price—whiten it, make it look right for the news she was bringing. When she left she was made up for the part she was to play. And I take my hat off to her, for she played it like a star." CHAPTER XIX—MOLLY’S STORY It was nearly seven when we got back to Grasslands. We alighted as silent as we started, and I was following Miss Maitland into the hall, Ferguson behind me, when she turned in the doorway and spoke. She had orders that the servants must know nothing; she was to tell them that the family would stay in town for a few days, and for me to be careful what I said before them. Then, before I could answer, she glanced at Ferguson and said good-by, her eyes just touching him for a moment and passing, cold and weary, back to me. She’d wish me good-night, she was going to her room and not coming down again—no, thanks, she’d take no dinner, she was very tired. She didn’t need to say that. If I ever saw a person dead beat and at the end of her string she was it. Ferguson stood looking after her. I think for the moment he forgot me, or maybe he wasn’t conscious of what his face showed. Some way or other I didn’t like to look at him; it was as if I was spying on something I had no right to see. So I turned away and dropped into one of the balcony chairs, sunk down against the back and feeling limp as a rag. Presently came his step and he was in front of me, his head bent down with the hair hanging loose on his forehead, and his eyes like they were hooks that would pull the words out of me: "What happened up there at the Whitneys?" "Mr. Ferguson," I answered solemn, "I’ve told you more than I ought already. Is it the right thing for me to go on doing wrong?" "Yes," he says, sharp and decided, "it’s exactly the right thing. Keep on doing it and we’ll get somewhere." I set my lips tight and looked past him at the lawn. He waited a minute then said: "I thought you agreed to trust me." "There’s a good deal more to it now than there was then." "All the more reason for telling me. Of course I can get all I want from Mrs. Janney or either of the Whitneys; they don’t let ladylike scruples stand in the way. But that means a trip to town and I’m not ready to take it." It was surprising how that young man could make you feel like a worm who had a conscience in place of common sense. "Have I got your word, sworn to on the Bible, if we had one here, not to give her a hint of it?"