"Gone in to see Mr. Leigh," Margery answered; "he is quite sick to-day,
and Mr. Maurice came to ask your mamma to go and sit with him awhile."

"Did you tell her about this squaw?"

"Well, no, Miss Lucia, I had a kind of guess it was better not. You see
she is not very strong, and I thought you could tell her when you came
if you thought it was any use."

"Thank you, Margery, you were quite right."

Lucia went in slowly, thinking the matter over. It did not, however,
appear to her advisable to conceal from her mother the squaw's
visit--it might have greater significance than she, knowing so little,
could imagine--but she wished extremely that she possessed some gauge by
which to measure beforehand the degree of agitation her news was likely
to produce. She had none, however, and could devise no better plan than
that of telling Mrs. Costello, quite simply, what she had just heard
from Margery.

As she opened the door of the parlour, Mrs. Costello half rose from the
sofa, where she was lying.

"Is it you, darling," she asked, "so soon?"

"There is a storm coming on," Lucia answered; "we hurried home to escape
it."

"And you have had a pleasant day?"