Janet undertook to explain, and began by telling how Cecily had sent the little gift to them, via the string, and ended by explaining about Aunt Minerva's duplicate. Miss Benedict listened to it all without comment. When Janet had finished and held out the two bracelets for her to examine, she merely took them and laid them in her lap, scarcely glancing at them. They waited, breathless, for her response. "No," she said, "I know nothing about these bracelets. It is, of course, very singular--a surprising coincidence that your aunt should have one of them. But I know nothing about them, any more than I know about Cecily herself." It was the first time she had ever referred to the matter before Cecily, and it was evident that it was not easy for her to do so. "I might as well speak plainly to you all about this, since the matter has come up. I did not know little Cecily; I had never heard of her, nor anything about her before she came here. I cannot imagine why she was sent. I have no relatives whose child she could have been, nor any friend who could have given her into my care." "Then why," interrupted Janet, "if you will pardon me for asking, Miss Benedict,--why did you take her in the day she came?" Miss Benedict's manner instantly became a trifle confused and embarrassed. "It is--er--a little difficult to explain, I confess," she stammered. "The truth is--I--er--it is commonly reported that we--that is--I have some means. I have frequently, in the past years, received very strange letters from people utterly unknown to me,--begging letters, letters proposing to invest my money for me,--oh! I cannot begin to tell you all the strange things these letters propose. I understand it is a not unusual experience--with well-to-do people. I have even received letters proposing that I adopt the writer's children and eventually settle my money on them!" Here Janet and Marcia could not repress a giggle, and Miss Benedict smiled slightly in sympathy. "It _does_ sound absurd," she admitted; "but it is quite true, and has often been most annoying. So, when the letter arrived announcing Cecily's coming, for which there was given no particular explanation, I thought it simply another case of a similar kind. And I resolved to dismiss both the child and her attendant as soon as they appeared. "But when the day came, strangely enough, I changed my mind. It was Cecily herself led me to do so. I felt as soon as I looked at her that, whoever had sent her here and for whatever purpose, the child herself was innocent of any fraud or imposture. She believed that I would receive her, that I _knew_ it was all right. There was something _trusting_ about her eyes, her look, her whole manner. I cannot explain it. And that was not all--there was another reason.