hone that he would not have
dared to say to my face, and I cut him off by hanging up the receiver.
From that minute, in the struggle that was coming, like Fred, I was
"forninst" the government.

It was arranged that Edith should take Margery home with her for the
night. I thought it a good idea; the very sight of Edith tucking in her
babies and sitting down beside the library lamp to embroider me a
scarfpin-holder for Christmas would bring Margery back to normal again.
Except in the matter of Christmas gifts, Edith is the sanest woman I
know; I recognized it at the dinner table, where she had the little girl
across from her planning her mourning hats before the dinner was half
finished.

When we rose at last, Margery looked toward the music-room, where the
dead man lay in state. But Edith took her by the arm and pushed her
toward the stairs.

"Get your hat on right away, while Jack calls a cab," she directed. "I
must get home, or Fred will keep the boys up until nine o'clock. He is
absolutely without principle."

When Margery came down there was a little red spot burning in each pale
cheek, and she ran down the stairs like a scared child. At the bottom
she clutched the newel-post and looked behind fearfully.

"What's the matter?" Edith demanded, glancing uneasily over her
shoulder.

"Some one has been up-stairs," Margery panted. "Somebody has been
staying in the house while we were away."

"Nonsense," I said, seeing that her fright was infecting Edith. "What
makes you think that?"

"Come and look," she said, gaining courage, I suppose, from a masculine
presence. And so we went up the long stairs, the two girls clutching
hands, and I leading the way and inclined to scoff.

At the door of a small room next to what had been Allan Fleming's
bedroom, we paused and I turned on the light.

"Before we left," Margery said more quietly, "I closed this room myself.
It had just been done over, and the pale blue soils so easily. I came in
the last thing, and saw covers put over everything. Now look at it!"

It was a sort of boudoir, filled with feminine knickknacks and mahogany
lounging chairs. Wherever possible, a pale brocade had been used, on the
empire couch, in panels in the wall, covering cushions on the
window-seat. It was evidently Margery's private sitting-room.

The linen cover that had been thrown over the divan was folded back, and
a pillow from the window-seat bore the imprint of a head. The table was
st