"Miss Benedict," she said, "there is something quite strange about Cecily that we should like to tell you. Could you spare a few moments to hear about it?" "Why--er--of course!" replied the little black-veiled lady, in a rather startled voice. "Will you--er--that is, I will come to her room in a little while--if you will kindly close the shutters--first!" And she directed them to proceed upstairs, without this time accompanying them. Cecily was overjoyed at their appearance. She was sitting by the window, fully dressed, the sunshine streaming in on her, transforming her curls into a radiant halo. A definite change had come over her during the last few days, caused, no doubt, by the enjoyment of light and sunshine and companionship. She was losing some of her former wan, wistful, frightened aspect, and assuming more of the confiding, sunny characteristics that were natural to her. At the moment the girls entered she was reading a magazine brought by them on their previous visit. After the first greetings and chat they reported their conversation with Miss Benedict. "She's coming up soon," ended Marcia, "and we must get the shutters closed. But what on earth _for_? Why _can't_ she be like ordinary people and enjoy the air and sunshine like the rest of us? Do _you_ know, Cecily?" "No, I can't imagine. It has all seemed very strange to me ever since I came. But you know how odd Miss Benedict is. I can't abide asking her any questions, and she never explains anything. The whole house is darkened like this all the time, and since she let me open my shutters, she's never once been in this room in the daytime. She never goes out without that heavy veil, not even into the garden. I don't understand it!" "Do you know," suggested Marcia, half under her breath, "one would almost think she had done something wrong and was ashamed of showing her face in the daylight. I've heard of such things. And that would explain some other queer things about this place, too, like--" "Hush!" warned Janet. "I hear her coming." In another moment Miss Benedict had opened the door. And in the very dim light (Marcia had been closing the shutters as they talked) they saw an unusual sight. Miss Benedict had come to them without her bonnet and veil! The change in her appearance was surprising. Her wonderful white hair was piled on top of her head in a heavy coronet braid. Her complexion was singularly soft and youthful, and her lovely gray eyes, even in the dim light, easily seemed her most attractive feature. It was a curious contrast made by the removal of the ugly bonnet and veil. In them she appeared a little, insignificant, unattractive personality. Without them, though short and slight of figure, she possessed a look and manner almost regal. She did not refer to the omission of her usual headgear, but took a seat and quietly asked them what they had to tell her.