Cecily seemed fairly to open out before their eyes, like a flower-bud expanding in warm, sunny atmosphere. Only at times now did she show any trace of the frightened repression of their earlier acquaintance. They seldom talked abut the mystery surrounding her, because they had discovered that any allusion to it only made her uneasy, unhappy, and rather silent. Moreover, further discussion of it was rather useless, as they seemed to have reached a point in its solution beyond which progress was hopeless. So they talked gaily about themselves and their own affairs, sometimes of their former home in Northam, the pleasant New England village. Occasionally Cecily would reciprocate by allowing them glimpses of her life in the obscure little English town from which she had come. Only rarely did she allude to the circumstances of her present home, and though the girls secretly ached to know more about it, they were too tactful to ask any questions. One query, whose answer they could not guess was this: who was the other mysterious old lady, kept so closely a prisoner in her room by Miss Benedict? And why was she so kept? Marcia and Janet were never tired of discussing this question between themselves. That it was a relative, they could not doubt. And they recalled one or two remarks Miss Benedict had dropped, particularly when she had said: "We--that is--I have some means." The "we" must certainly have referred to herself and the other one. But could that "other one" be mother, sister, aunt, or cousin? And why was there so much secrecy about her? Cecily had only said that Miss Benedict referred to her as "the lady in there who is not very well." But why conceal so carefully just an ordinary invalid? "You never can tell, though," remarked Janet, decisively, one night when they had been discussing the matter with Aunt Minerva. "Were you ever more stunned, Marcia, than at the reason she gave for having all the shutters closed? I think it was the most pitiful thing I ever heard, I could just have sat and _cried_ about it. And it was so different from all the awful things we'd imagined. Perhaps there is just as good a reason for this other mystery." "But what puzzles me," broke in Aunt Minerva, impatiently, "is why that woman, if she's so wealthy, doesn't go to a good oculist and have some treatment for her eyes. They can do such wonders nowadays. Why on earth does she endure it? I never heard of anything so silly!" "I suppose it's for the same reason that she wouldn't have a doctor when she hurt her ankle," said Marcia. "She evidently doesn't want a stranger in the house, even for such important things as those." One day Cecily asked Marcia why she never brought in her violin since the occasion of the first visit, and requested that she bring it with her next day and give them a concert. So on the following day Marcia came armed with her violin case and also an interesting new book from the library that she thought Cecily would enjoy.