“When should she be home?”

“Oh, not before afternoon.”

Rebecca waited with all the patience she could muster.  She kept reassuring herself, telling herself that it was all natural, that the other woman could not help it, but she made up her mind that if Agnes did not return that afternoon she should be sent for.

When it was four o’clock she started up with resolution.  She had been furtively watching the onyx clock on the sitting-room mantel; she had timed herself.  She had said that if Agnes was not home by that time she should demand that she be sent for.  She rose and stood before Mrs. Dent, who looked up coolly from her embroidery.

“I’ve waited just as long as I’m going to,” she said.  “I’ve come ’way from Michigan to see my own sister’s daughter and take her home with me.  I’ve been here ever since yesterday—­twenty-four hours—­and I haven’t seen her.  Now I’m going to.  I want her sent for.”

Mrs. Dent folded her embroidery and rose.

“Well, I don’t blame you,” she said.  “It is high time she came home.  I’ll go right over and get her myself.”

Rebecca heaved a sigh of relief.  She hardly knew what she had suspected or feared, but she knew that her position had been one of antagonism if not accusation, and she was sensible of relief.

“I wish you would,” she said gratefully, and went back to her chair, while Mrs. Dent got her shawl and her little white head-tie.  “I wouldn’t trouble you, but I do feel as if I couldn’t wait any longer to see her,” she remarked apologetically.

“Oh, it ain’t any trouble at all,” said Mrs. Dent as she went out.  “I don’t blame you; you have waited long enough.”

Rebecca sat at the window watching breathlessly until Mrs. Dent came stepping through the yard alone.  She ran to the door and saw, hardly noticing it this time, that the rose-bush was again violently agitated, yet with no wind evident elsewhere.

“Where is she?” she cried.

Mrs. Dent laughed with stiff lips as she came up the steps over the terrace.  “Girls will be girls,” said she.  “She’s gone with Addie to Lincoln.  Addie’s got an uncle who’s conductor on the train, and lives there, and he got ’em passes, and they’re goin’ to stay to Addie’s Aunt Margaret’s a few days.  Mrs. Slocum said Agnes didn’t have time to come over and ask me before the train went, but she took it on herself to say it would be all right, and—­”

“Why hadn’t she been over to tell you?” Rebecca was angry, though not suspicious.  She even saw no reason for her anger.

“Oh, she was putting up grapes.  She was coming over just as soon as she got the black off her hands.  She heard I had company, and her hands were a sight.  She was holding them over sulphur matches.”

“You say she’s going to stay a few days?” repeated Rebecca dazedly.

“Yes; till Thursday, Mrs. Slocum said.”