curls that escaped from beneath it all shattered Marcia's calculations. She had thought of Sylvia Hayden as farm-bred—the product of an inland, country town—a creature starved for breadth of outlook and social opportunity. It was disconcerting to discover that she was none of these things.

[36]

In view of her sophistication, Marcia's proposed philanthropy took on an aspect of impertinence.

Well, if she herself was chagrined, there was consolation in seeing that the girl was equally discomfited.

As she approached Marcia, she accosted her uncertainly with the words:

"Pardon me. I am looking for a relative—a Mrs. Howe. You don't happen to know, do you—"

"I'm Marcia."

"But I thought—I expected—" gasped the girl.

"And I thought—I expected—" Marcia mimicked gaily.

For a moment they looked searchingly into one another's faces, then laughed.

"Fancy having an aunt like you!" exclaimed the incredulous Sylvia, still staring with unconcealed amazement.

"And fancy having a niece like you!"

"Well, all I can say is I'm glad I came," was the[37] girl's retort. "I wasn't altogether sure I should be when I started East. I said to myself: 'Sylvia you are taking a big chance. You may just be wasting your money.'"

[37]

"You may still find it's been wasted."

"No, I shan't. I know already it has been well spent," announced the girl, a whimsical smile curving her lips.

"Wait until you see where you're going."

"I am going to Paradise—I'm certain of it. The glimpses I've had of the ocean from the train have convinced me of that. Do you live where you can see it, Aunt Marcia? Will it be nearby?"

"I shall not tell you one thing," Marcia replied. "At least only one, and that is that I flatly refuse to be Aunt Marcia to you!"

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