rather old-fashioned and do not go out very much. Mrs. Rokeby-Jones. Dear me, why everybody knows her."

[Pg 31]

Mary almost said "Do they?" The name of Rokeby-Jones meant nothing to her.

"She speaks remarkably well of you," observed Aunt Caroline, again glancing at the reference.

Mary had not even read it. She was too much of a novice for that, and there had been too many things to distract her.

"Quite a cultured lady, I am told, Miss Norcross."

"Yes—quite."

Aunt Caroline was about to pass to the next reference, hesitated and glanced up.

"You know, we women are curious, my dear. I should like to ask you something."

Mary was gripping the chair again. What now?

Aunt Caroline leaned forward and lowered her voice.

"Is it really true—what they say about her daughter?"

The candidate for social secretary somehow felt that the bottom was dropping out of things. What ought she to say? What could she say? And what was it that anybody said about Mrs. Rokeby-Jones's daughter?

"I mean the older daughter," added Aunt Caroline.

So there were two. Mary was staring down at her lap, frowning in bewilderment. How would she find Mrs. Rokeby-Jones's elder daughter—guilty or not[Pg 32] guilty? If she only knew what people said about her. Probably it had been in the newspapers. Oh, why hadn't she seen it?

[Pg 32]

"I admit I merely ask from curiosity," said Aunt Caroline, yet hopefully.

Mary looked up and made her decision. Even the meanest prisoner at the bar was entitled to the benefit of a doubt. Why not Mrs. Rokeby-Jones's daughter?

"Personally, I have never believed it," said Mary.

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