eted building, sedately lonely in the midst of its
valuable acres.

"Miss Earle says to come to the office," a colored maid told him, when
he had given his borrowed name, and led him from the vast hall to a
fairly large room, whose windows looked upon a tennis court, and whose
walls were almost covered with group pictures of graduating classes,
photographs of amateur theatrical performances, and portrait studies of
alumnae.

A very thin, sharp-faced woman of about forty, with red-rimmed eyes
which peered nearsightedly, rose from an old-fashioned roll-top desk and
came forward to greet him.

"I am Miss Earle, Miss Pendleton's private secretary," she told him, as
he shook her bony, clammy hand. "I should have told you when you
telephoned this morning that both Miss Pendleton and Miss Macon sailed
for Europe yesterday. We always have our commencement the last Tuesday
in May, you know.... But if there is anything I can do for you----"

"I should like to know something at first hand of the history of the
school, its--well, prestige, special advantages, curriculum, and so on,"
Dundee began deprecatingly.

"I should certainly be able to answer any question you may wish to ask,
Mr. Randolph, since I have been with the school for fifteen years," Miss
Earle interrupted tartly.

"Then Forsyte must take younger pupils than I had been led to believe,
Miss Earle," Dundee said, with his most winning smile.

"I was never a pupil here," the secretary corrected him, but she thawed
visibly. "Of course, I was a mere child when I finished business school,
but I _have_ been here fifteen years--fifteen years of watching rich
society girls dawdle away four or five years, just because they've got
to be _somewhere_ before they make their debut.... But I mustn't talk
like that, or I'll give you a wrong impression, Mr. Randolph. Of its
kind, it is really a very fine school--very exclusive; riding masters,
dancing masters, a golf 'pro' and our own golf course, native teachers
for French, Italian, German and Spanish.... Oh, the _school_ is all
right, and will probably not suffer any loss of prestige on account of
that dreadful murder out in the Middle West----"

"Murder?" Dundee echoed, as if he had no idea what she was talking
about.

"Haven't you been reading the papers?" Miss Earle rallied him, with a
coquettish smile. "But I don't suppose Boston bothers with such sordid
things," she added, her thin-lipped mouth tightening. "Miss Pendl