she will," sighed the music teacher. "We all need it bad
enough, I'm sure."

During this conversation Elizabeth, who might be supposed the one most
interested in her Aunt's invitation, sat silently at her place, eating
her breakfast with her accustomed calmness of demeanor and scarcely
glancing at her parents.

She had pleasant and quite regular features, for a girl of fifteen,
with dark hair and eyes--the "Merrick eyes," her mother proudly
declared--and a complexion denoting perfect health and colored with
the rosy tints of youth. Her figure was a bit slim and unformed,
and her shoulders stooped a little more than was desirable; but in
Cloverton Elizabeth had the reputation of being "a pretty girl," and a
sullen and unresponsive one as well.

Presently she rose from her seat, glanced at the clock, and then went
into the hall to get her hat and school-books. The prospect of being
an heiress some day had no present bearing on the fact that it was
time to start for school.

Her father came to the door with the check in his hand.

"Just sign your name on the back of this, Beth," said he, "and I'll
get it cashed for you."

The girl shook her head.

"No, father," she answered. "If I decide to go to Aunt Jane's I must
buy some clothes; and if you get the money I'll never see a cent of
it."

"When will you decide?" he asked.

"There's no hurry. I'll take time to think it over," she replied. "I
hate Aunt Jane, of course; so if I go to her I must be a hypocrite,
and pretend to like her, or she never will leave me her property.

"Well, Beth?"

"Perhaps it will be worth while; but if I go into that woman's house
I'll be acting a living lie."

"But think of the money!" said her mother.

"I do think of it. That's why I didn't tell you at once to send the
check back to Aunt Jane. I'm going to think of everything before I
decide. But if I go--if I allow this money to make me a hypocrite--I
won't stop at trifles, I assure you. It's in my nature to be
dreadfully wicked and cruel and selfish, and perhaps the money isn't
worth the risk I run of becoming depraved."

"Elizabeth!"

"Good-bye; I'm late now," she continued, in the same quiet tone, and
walked slowly down the walk.

The Professor twisted his moustache and looked into his wife's eyes
with a half frightened glance.

"Beth's a mighty queer girl," he muttered.

"She's very like her Aunt Jane," returned Mrs. De Graf, thoughtfully
gazing after her daughter. "