t he did for that
English boy we met at the Bells'."

"I know Uncle George is wonderful," said Barbara, a trifle more hopeful,
"but even he may not be able to cure everybody. You would be just as
anxious as Marjorie and I, Beverly, if you knew dear Miss Jessie as well
as we do."

"I didn't say I wasn't anxious. I only said I didn't see any use in such
long faces before you know whether there was anything to be mournful
about. How do you do, Miss Elsie? I haven't seen you in a week of
Sundays."

In his present exuberant spirits, Beverly was quite ready to forget past
unpleasantness, but Elsie had not forgotten, as her heightened color
and embarrassed manner plainly showed.

Beverly went to the piano, and began playing rag-time, with the cheerful
desire of raising the drooping spirits of the party. He proposed they
should sing college songs, but nobody felt inclined for singing and the
attempt proved a dismal failure.

"What a very uncomfortable thing suspense is," remarked Barbara, as the
clock struck five.

"You would say so if you had been through the suspense Marjorie and I
have," her brother said. "We know something of what suspense means,
don't we, Marjorie?"

"Indeed we do," said Marjorie, rousing herself from present anxieties
with an effort. "Oh, Beverly, those awful days when you and your uncle
were on your way to Arizona, and I couldn't be absolutely sure I hadn't
made a mistake about that photo after all. Suppose I had been mistaken,
and you had had that terrible disappointment!"

"Well, you were not mistaken, you see," broke in Beverly, who felt that
the recollection of those days was still too vivid to bear discussion.
"Come and sit by me, Babs," and he made room for his sister on the piano
stool.

But all suspense, however long, must come to an end at last, and just as
the clock was striking half past five, there was another ring at the
bell, followed by a simultaneous rush to the door. Only Marjorie
remained behind. Until that moment she had scarcely realized how great
her anxiety was, and her knees shook so that she could not rise from her
chair. She heard all the others talking at once, apparently asking some
question, and then Mrs. Randolph's voice, but she could not hear her
words.

"Marjorie, Marjorie, where are you?" cried Barbara joyfully; "here's
Mother!"

"I'm here," said Marjorie, faintly, and the next moment Mrs. Randolph
was beside her, holding both her cold hands. Marjorie's ey