arlowe. She just came."

Grace stepped into the living room. A tall, gray-haired woman of perhaps
sixty, very smartly gowned, and of commanding appearance, rose to meet
her. "Are you Miss Harlowe?" was her abrupt question. Then before Grace
had time to do more than bow in the affirmative, she said with a
brusqueness intended to hide emotion, "My name is Brent. Jean Brent is
my niece. Tell me, is she with you still? I could not bring myself to
ask the maid. I was afraid she might say that my niece was not here." In
her anxiety, her voice trembled.

Grace's hand was stretched forth impulsively. "I am so glad," she said
eagerly. "Jean needs you. She will soon be home from her classes. Would
you like to go to her room?"

The woman returned Grace's hand clasp with a fervor born of emotion. She
was trying to hide her agitation, but Grace could see that she was
deeply stirred. Once in Jean's room she gave one curious glance about
her, then sank heavily into a chair and began to cry. "I have been a
stubborn, foolish woman," she sobbed. "I drove my little girl away from
me because I was determined to make her marry a man whom I now know to
be worthless. Oh, I am afraid she will never forgive me."

Grace was touched by the proud woman's tearful remorse, but she doubted
if Jean Brent would forgive her aunt. She had spoken most bitterly
against her. Grace tried to think of something comforting to say. But
before she could put her thoughts into words the door was suddenly
opened and Jean walked into the room. At sight of the familiar figure
she turned very pale. Her blue eyes gleamed with anger. She took a step
forward.

"What brought _you_ here?" she asked tensely.

"Jean, my child, won't you forgive me?" pleaded the woman holding out
her arms.

Grace waited to hear no more. But as she turned to leave the room she
caught one look at Jean's face. The sudden anger in it had died out.
Grace believed that all would be well, but whatever passed between aunt
and niece was not for her ears. She went directly to her room to wait
there until Emma came from her classes. She had so much to say to her
faithful comrade.

In due season Emma appeared with a cheery, "Hello, Gracious. How is
everything?"

"Everything is lovely. Emma Dean, you dear old humbug. No wonder you
couldn't look sad when I talked about leaving Harlowe House. Now,
confess. You were in the secret, weren't you?" Grace stood with her
hands on Emma's shoulders, looki