HAPTER XI

"How very difficult it's going to be to explain now," Elsie Marley said
to herself as she dressed on Friday morning. "How I wish I had done it
that very first hour. Mr. Middleton would have understood, then, for I
had just told him Elsie liked to act; and he wouldn't have cared. He
couldn't have been really hurt as I am afraid he will be now. And yet,
how can I help feeling glad I was here to take the library for him?
And I did so enjoy doing it, too."

She decided that if Miss Stewart were able to go back this afternoon,
she would leave directly after lunch and get the only train for New
York that she knew--the one Elsie Moss had taken. And if she couldn't
possibly explain in any other manner, she would have to write a note
and steal quietly away. It wasn't a nice thing to do; yet she couldn't
afford to let the difficulty of explaining the situation keep her here
until Elsie Moss should have become so firmly established that it would
be cruel to drag her back to Enderby.

On the other hand, as long as she had started in with the library work,
if Miss Stewart wasn't well enough to attend this afternoon, she would
remain one day more. And if she found that that was to be the case,
she would spend her morning writing the note to Mr. Middleton to fall
back upon in case of need, and a letter to Elsie Moss warning her of
the change.

When she went down to the dining-room, Mr. Middleton had that same air
of eagerness mingled with what seemed to Elsie assurance of the
permanency of their relationship. After a little he inquired whether
her unfamiliar work of the day before had tired her overmuch.

"Oh, no--Uncle John, not at all," she replied, consciously hampered by
lack of vocabulary or of tone to express enthusiasm that was new to her.

"Well, then, what should you say to giving Miss Rachel another day of
rest?" he suggested. "I have been afraid for some time that she's
rather letting people get on her nerves, and possibly a few days off
would be a benefit for all concerned. She has lived alone for years,
and, good as she is, has grown narrow and notional as one inevitably
will who hasn't other personalities in a household to rub against. I
dare say if she had her way she wouldn't allow a boy under fifteen in
the library."

"She's afraid they'll soil the books?" Elsie remarked lamely, striving
to be adequate to the occasion. But somehow, he seemed rich enough to
lend her something unawares.