d knock on the front door, Lily Ivy
responded with such an air of polite surprise that no one could have
suspected her of deceit.

"Certainly, ma'am, Miss Ann is to home. She am receiving in the
libr'y. Rest your umbril' on the table, ma'am, and take a char. I'll
go and 'nounce you to Miss Ann."

Left alone, Marcia did not know whether she wanted to laugh or cry.
The brave attempt at grand manner in the half-ruined house was pitiful
as well as amusing.

"This way, ma'am. My mistress done say she'll receive you in the
libr'y."

And there, in solemn state, sat the mistress of the Great House. She,
too, had had time to prepare for the meeting, and she was sitting
gauntly by the west window awaiting her guest.

"It was right kind of you to overlook my neglect," Miss Walden began,
pointing to a low chair near her own, "but I never leave home and I am
an old woman."

The soft drawl did not utterly hide the tone of reflection on the
caller's audacity in presuming to enter a home where she was not wanted.

The window was almost covered by a honeysuckle vine and a tall yellow
rose bush; the afternoon breeze came into the room heavy with the rare,
spicy fragrance, and after a moment's resentment at the measured
welcome, Marcia said cheerfully:

"You see--I had to come, Miss Walden. I've only waited until I could
become less a shock to you. You believe I _am_ Theodore Starr's niece,
do you not? I know there are all sorts of silly ideas floating around
concerning me, but I need not prove my identity to you, need I?"

The winning charm of the plain little visitor only served to brace Miss
Walden to greater sternness.

"I have no doubt about you. You are very like your uncle, Theodore
Starr."

"Then let me tell you what I must, quickly. It is very hard for me to
say; the hardest thing I ever had to do--but I must do it!"

Ann Walden sank back in her stiff armchair.

"Go on," she said, and her eyes fastened themselves on the visitor.
She wanted to look away, but she could not. She was more alive and
alert than she had been in many a year--but the reawakening was painful.

"I only knew--the truth after mother died. I found a letter among her
things. Why she acted as she did I can never know, for she was a good
woman, Miss Walden, and a just one in everything else. You may not
understand; we New Englanders are said to love money, but we must have
it clean. I am sure mother meant nothing dishonest--we had