“Some cognac; you must take it, Aunt Yvonett,” noting the pallor stealing upward and the trembling of the bravely smiling lips. “You must not worry, dearie,” handing her the wineglass. “I have a feeling luck is going to change....”

[Pg 30]

[Pg 30]

“Misfortunes never come singly,” prophesied Miss Rebekah, her pessimistic spirit surrendering at once to dismal forebodings.

“Rot!” exclaimed Marjorie, darting an indignant glance at the spinster, who bridled at the disrespectful intonation of her voice. “You are not to worry, Aunt Yvonett; I’ll recover that money by hook or by crook. Cousin Becky will look after you until I return from seeing Mrs. Fordyce. I won’t be any longer than I can help,” and gathering up her belongings, she departed.

The clocks were just chiming the hour of five when Marjorie reached her destination, and a footman in imposing livery showed her at once into the drawing-room.

“Miss Langdon,” he announced, and disappeared behind the silken portières.

At first Marjorie thought she was alone as she advanced into the room, then her eyes, grown accustomed to the softly shaded lights, detected a small, white-haired woman sitting in a large easy chair who rose as she drew nearer, and Marjorie saw that she was a hunchback.

“I am glad you have come,” she said, taking the hand Marjorie held out in both her own, and leading her gently forward. “But, my dear, I thought you were much older,” her eyes traveling over the girl’s beautifully molded features and small, well-set head. The November wind had restored the roses in Marjorie’s cheeks, and she made a charming picture in her well-cut calling costume and becoming [Pg 31]hat, both presents from a wealthy friend who had gone into mourning. “It was years ago that your mother wrote me of your birth....”

[Pg 31]

“Perhaps she told you of my sister who died,” suggested Marjorie. “She was eight years my senior.”

“That must have been it; pull up that chair,” Mrs. Fordyce added, resuming her seat. “My husband and I went to the Orient shortly after her letter, and gradually my correspondence with your mother ceased; but I have many happy memories of our school days. Perhaps you have heard her speak of me—Flora McPherson?”

“Of course, how 

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