“Something did happen this afternoon,” she told herself with conviction. “Gretel would never have cried like that for nothing. Perhaps she’ll tell me about it by and by, but I don’t believe I’d better say any more just now.” But Gretel did not “tell her about it by and by.” She was very quiet all the evening, and her friend’s efforts to discover the cause of the trouble met with so little response that Geraldine began to feel a little hurt. It was the first time in all the years of their friendship that Gretel had ever had a secret in which Geraldine had not shared. CHAPTER VIII ADA EXPRESSES AN OPINION “Come down here, Jerry; I want to talk to you.” Jerry Barlow swung himself down from the piazza railing, from whence he had been watching the departure of a sailboat filled with Sunday pleasure-seekers, and joined his sister on the lawn. “What’s up?” he demanded curiously, for Geraldine’s face was serious. Geraldine did not answer at once, but led the way across the lawn to a little rustic summer-house, covered with blooming honeysuckle. “I didn’t want to talk where any one could hear,” she explained. “Sit down, and I’ll tell you. I’m worried about Gretel.” “Worried about Gretel,” repeated Jerry, incredulously. “Why, there isn’t anything the matter with her, is there? She looks all right to me.” “Oh, I don’t mean that she’s ill, or anything like that,” said Geraldine. “I know she’s in some trouble, and she won’t tell me what it is. It began yesterday afternoon, when she went to New London with Mrs. Chester.” “Why don’t you ask her what the matter is?” Jerry inquired, practically. “I thought you two always told each other everything.” Geraldine reddened. “We always have,” she said; “at least, I always tell her everything, and I thought she told me, but she won’t tell me about this. I’m afraid she’s very unhappy.” “What makes you think so?” asked Jerry, his own face sobering, for he was almost as devoted to Gretel as his sister. “Well,” said Geraldine, slowly, “it’s all rather queer, and I don’t understand it. She was all right till yesterday afternoon. She went shopping with Mrs. Chester, and she has been different ever since. She cried dreadfully, and she scarcely ate any dinner, and once in the night I woke up and heard her tossing and moaning in her sleep. I saw her wiping her eyes in church this morning, and now she’s gone up to her room to write letters. She’s trying awfully hard to be cheerful, and act as if nothing had happened, but she can’t deceive me.” Jerry’s eyes flashed indignantly. “I guess I know what the trouble is,” he said. “Somebody’s been making disagreeable remarks about her being German. It’s a beastly shame, that’s what it is.” “I thought of that,” said Geraldine, “but who could it have been? Not Mrs. Chester or that nice Mrs. Cranston, I am sure. I asked her if she had happened to meet Ada Godfrey, and she said no. I can’t think of any one else who would do such a mean thing.”