Miss De Sor and Miss Wyvil were still sitting together under the
trees, talking of the murder at the inn.

"And is that really all you can tell me?" said Francine.

"That is all," Cecilia answered.

"Is there no love in it?"

"None that I know of."

"It's the most uninteresting murder that ever was committed. What
shall we do with ourselves? I'm tired of being here in the
garden. When do the performances in the schoolroom begin?"

"Not for two hours yet."

Francine yawned. "And what part do you take in it?" she asked.

"No part, my dear. I tried once--only to sing a simple little
song. When I found myself standing before all the company and saw
rows of ladies and gentlemen waiting for me to begin, I was so
frightened that Miss Ladd had to make an apology for me. I didn't
get over it for the rest of the day. For the first time in my
life, I had no appetite for my dinner. Horrible!" said Cecilia,
shuddering over the remembrance of it. "I do assure you, I
thought I was going to die."

Perfectly unimpressed by this harrowing narrative, Francine
turned her head lazily toward the house. The door was thrown open