"Did you notice that she said 'shilling'?" suggested Janet. "That shows she must be English. She _looks_ English. Now will you tell me how she could get 'way over here from England and not know why she had come?" "It sounds as if she might have been kidnapped," said Marcia. "Why, Janet! this is precisely like a mystery in a book. Do you _realize_ it? And here we are living right next door to it! It's too good to be true!" Janet's mind had, however, gone off on another tack. "I can't understand that remark she made about the music. 'Träumerei' is certainly about as well known as any piece of classic music. She said she never remembered hearing it, and yet it seems somehow familiar to her. Can you make anything out of _that_?" Marcia couldn't. "Maybe it's all just a notion," she suggested helplessly. "Suppose I play some on the violin here in our window right now. She seems to enjoy it so. And maybe she'll open her shutter again." So they sat on the window-seat, and Marcia played her very best, including the "Träumerei," but no golden head appeared from behind the shutter that afternoon. "Never mind," said Janet. "We'll see her to-morrow, most likely. Perhaps she's busy downstairs now." "But isn't she the prettiest little thing!" mused Marcia, reminiscently. "The loveliest big blue eyes, and curly golden hair, and such a _trusting_ look in her face, somehow! It went right down to the very bottom of my heart, if it doesn't sound silly to put it that way." "Yes, I know," agreed Janet. "I felt the same way. But doesn't it strike you queer that--" "Oh, the whole thing's queer!" interrupted Marcia. "The queerest I ever heard of. I guess you agree with me now, Janet, that I had a secret worth talking about in 'Benedict's Folly.' But let's wait till to-morrow and see what happens." The morrow came and went, however, and nothing happened at all. Hour after hour the two girls watched for the signal of the white handkerchief, but every shuttered window of the old mansion remained blank. Neither did any one go in or out of the gate. Late in the afternoon Marcia played again at the window, but the sweetest music called forth not a single sign from behind the walls of the house next door. Janet had but one solution to offer. "They probably didn't need any marketing done to-day, so she naturally didn't go out." "But why couldn't she have at least looked out a moment from her window?" cried Marcia, disconsolately. "Surely that would have been easy to do, when she said she cared so much for the music. She must have _known_ I was playing just for her!" "She may have been somewhere in the house where she couldn't. You can't tell, and oughtn't to blame her without knowing," declared Janet, defending the conduct of the mysterious Cecily. "To-morrow we'll see her again, no doubt." On the morrow her prophecy was fulfilled. They did see her again, but under circumstances so peculiar that they were quite dumfounded.