d,
even down to a request that the salt might be passed to her at table, was
entered in that little note-book. She blamed herself bitterly, she told
Joan, for having undoubtedly put Margaret on her guard to start with; it
was a false step, she said with a frown, that it might take her weeks and
months to retrieve. "But she will be gone by that time," said Joan, "so
it won't be much use retrieving it then."

Hilary retorted that she had been speaking in a general sense, and then
changed the subject quickly lest Joan should discover how little sense of
any sort the answer contained.

Undoubtedly the relief that Margaret experienced when Hilary ceased to
cross-examine her at meal-times had much to do with her ceasing to
dislike her life at The Cedars as vehemently as she had done at first,
and so cautious was Hilary not to let Margaret suspect the close
observation under which she still kept her, that Margaret had almost come
to believe that she must have been mistaken in ever supposing that Hilary
knew she had something to hide.

Could Margaret have had a glimpse at the pages of that note-book,
however, she would have been quickly undeceived on that point. One entry
alone, which had been made only a few days before, would have filled her
with dismay. It occupied several pages and was headed, "The Clue of the
Handkerchief."

The incident to which this sensational headline referred had taken place
the previous Sunday afternoon, when most of the members of the family had
been sitting in deck-chairs, or lying on rugs, under the shade of the big
cedars on the lawn which gave the house its name. Some of the party were
reading, others were frankly sleeping, when the quiet that reigned had
been disturbed by Nancy, who came running over the grass waving a
handkerchief over her head. "Who's the owner of this pretty thing, this
pretty thing, this pretty thing?" she sang, to the tune of "Here we go
round the mulberry bush." Geoffrey, who had been sound asleep, woke, and
groaned aloud.

"Oh, go away, Nancy," he said; "can't you see that we are all reading?"

"I can't say I can," she retorted, glancing laughingly at his book, which
lay face downwards on the grass beside him. "And I want to discover the
owner of this handkerchief with the initials 'M. A.' on it."

"I am," said Margaret, as, without pausing to reflect, she stretched out
her hand for it.

"Oh, Miss Carson, Miss Carson," said Nancy, dangling her prize in the air