The verandah was very still for a little while . The sun had quite set , and it was growing dark when Frances came back to the steps . `` Well , what are you going to do about it ? '' she said shortly . `` Which of us is to go to the Bay Shore ? '' `` I suppose I had better go , '' said Cecilia slowly -- very slowly indeed . Frances kicked her slippered toe against the fern jardinière . `` You may see Nan Harris somewhere else before she goes back , '' she said consolingly . `` Yes , I may , '' said Cecilia . She knew quite well that she would not . Nan would return to Campden on the special train , and she was going back west in three days . It was hard to give the picnic up , but Cecilia was used to giving things up . Nobody ever expected Frances to give things up ; she was so brilliant and popular that the good things of life came her way naturally . It never seemed to matter so much about quiet Cecilia . * * * * * Cecilia cried herself to sleep that night . She felt that it was horribly selfish of her to do so , but she could n't help it . She awoke in the morning with a confused idea that it was very late . Why had n't Mary called her , as she had been told to do ? Through the open door between her room and Frances 's she could see that the latter 's bed was empty . Then she saw a little note , addressed to her , pinned on the pillow .
Dear Saint Cecilia -LSB- it ran -RSB- , when you read this I shall be XXXXX the train to Ashland to spend the day with Grandmother Newbury .
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