"That's it exactly," he declared with conviction. "She's restless--and what's the matter? That's what I want to know." "Nonsense! it's just high spirits," cut in Ned, with an impatient gesture. "Margaret's perfectly happy. Doesn't she laugh and sing and motor and play tennis all day?" "Yes," retorted his brother, "she does; but behind it all there's a curious something that I can't get at. It is as if she were--were trying to get away from something--something within herself." Mrs. Merideth nodded her head. "I know," she said. "I've seen it, too." "Ah, you have!" Frank turned to his sister with a troubled frown. "Well, what is it?" "I don't know." Mrs. Merideth paused, her eyes on the distant sky-line. "I have thought--once or twice," she resumed slowly, "that Margaret might be--in love." "In love!" cried two voices in shocked amazement. Had Mrs. Merideth been observant she might have seen the sudden paling of a smooth-shaven face, and the quick clinching of a strong white hand that rested on the arm of a chair near her; but she was not observant--in this case, at least--and she went on quietly. "Yes; but on the whole I'm inclined to doubt that now." "Oh, you are," laughed Ned, a little nervously. His brother did not speak. "Yes," repeated Mrs. Merideth; "but I haven't decided yet what it is." "Well, I for one don't believe it's anything," declared Ned, stubbornly. "To me she seems happy, and I believe she is." Frank shook his head. "No," he said. "By her own confession she has been flitting from one place to another all over the world; and, though perhaps she does not realize it herself, I believe her coming here was merely another effort on her part to get away from this something--this something that while within herself, perhaps, is none the less pursuing her, and making her restless and unhappy." "But what can it be?" argued Ned. "She's not so different from other girls--only nicer. She likes good times and pretty clothes, and is always ready for any fun that's going. I'm sure it isn't anything about those socialistic notions that Della used to worry about," he added laughingly. "She's got well over those--if she ever had them, indeed. I don't believe she's looked toward the mills since she's been here--much less wanted to know anything about the people that work in them!" "No, it isn't that," agreed Frank. "Perhaps it isn't anything," broke in Della, with sudden cheeriness. "Maybe it is a little dull here for her after all her gay friends and interesting travels. Perhaps she is a little homesick, but is trying to make us think everything is all right, and she overdoes it. Anyway, we'll ask some nice people up for a week or two. I fancy we all need livening up. We're getting morbid. Come, whom shall we have?" CHAPTER XVI