Club that evening,
having been admitted as a guest of honor some months before. Indeed, she
was quite the heroine of the hour, for the romantic story had quickly
spread from friends and acquaintances to strangers, and she had even
been written about in several newspapers, a circumstance which had
filled the breasts of some other girls with envy. For several weeks
there was not a girl in the city so much talked about as Barbara
Randolph, the child who had been mourned as dead by her family for
nearly three years, and then reappeared under conditions sufficiently
interesting and romantic to fill the pages of a thrilling story-book.
The Randolphs disliked the publicity, but Barbara was pursued by
reporters and photographers until Beverly lost his temper, and
positively refused to allow any member of the family to grant another
interview.

"How does it feel to know that everybody in New York is talking about
you, and all the papers asking for your picture?" Elsie had asked one
day, to which Barbara had answered, with a laugh:

"I don't know that I have any particular feelings about it. I am too
happy at being at home again with Mother and Beverly to care for
anything else in the world."

Elsie was nowhere to be seen when Marjorie returned to her uncle's
apartment, and the cousins did not meet till they were both dressed for
the evening, and had joined Mr. and Mrs. Carleton in the drawing-room.
Then Mrs. Carleton's first words were an anxious question.

"Are you sure you are feeling quite well this evening, Elsie darling?
You are very pale."

"Of course I'm all right," said Elsie, crossly. "I do wish you wouldn't
fuss so much about me, Mamma."

Mrs. Carleton sighed.

"I am sure I don't intend to fuss," she said, plaintively, "but how can
I help worrying when I see you looking so badly, especially when you
will insist on studying so hard?"

"Nonsense," said Mr. Carleton, looking up from his evening paper, with a
frown. "I have looked over Elsie's lessons, and there is nothing wrong
there. She isn't studying any harder than a healthy girl of her age
should. What's the matter, Elsie--don't you feel quite up to the mark?"

He spoke kindly, but his tone was a trifle impatient, and before Elsie
could reply, her mother began again.

"She won't tell you; she insists there is nothing the matter, but she
has not looked like herself for days. If she isn't better to-morrow I
shall have the doctor see her, and give her a to