And now this! Billy sat up with a jerk and shook himself free from the
dead moss and leaves, wending his way sulkily across to where he had
left his wheel, and pondering--pondering. "Shafton!" There ought to be
something there to work on, but there wasn't!
Meantime Marilyn rode hard down the way to Economy, not slowing her
pony till they reached the outskirts of Economy. Her mind was in such a
tumult that she felt as if she were being whirled on with circumstances
without having a will to choose one thing from another. Mark! The
unwelcome guests! Mark and Opal! Mark and Cherry! Cherry! The
Chief of Police! Mark! And yes, Cherry! She was on her way to see
Cherry! But what was she going to do when she got there, and how
was she to excuse her strange visit after almost five years since she
had seen the child? If there was truth in the rumor that she was
connected with a shooting affair at the Blue Duck, and especially if
there was truth in the charge that Mark had been going with her, would
it not seem strange--perhaps be misconstrued by Cherry? By her family?
They had all known of her own intimacy with Mark in the past. She
shrank from the idea. Yet Marilyn Severn had not been brought up to
regard public opinion when it was a question of doing something that
ought to be done. The only question was, was it really something that
ought to be done or was she letting Billy influence her unduly? Billy
was shrewd. He knew Mark. He knew a lot more than he ever told. What
did Billy know? How she wished she had asked her father's advise before
coming, and yet, if she had, he might have been unduly influenced by
dreading to have her put herself in the position of prying into the
matter.
As she rode and pondered she came near to the little house on the
village street where Cherry lived, a house set out plumb with the
sidewalk, and a little gate at the side to go round to the back door
where the family lived, the front room being the tailor shop. As she
drew near she looked up and was sure she saw Cherry in a short narrow
skirt and an old middy blouse scurrying through the gate to the back
door, and her heart thumped so hard she was almost tempted to ride on
to the store first before making her call. But something in her that
always held her to a task until it was completed forced her to dismount
and knock at the door.