Edith Archer Lee," Madame went on. "She must be married. Think of
Louise Lane having a daughter old enough to be married! And yet--my
Virginia would have been thirty-two now. Dear me, how the time goes
by!"

[Sidenote: In Trouble]

The tall clock on the landing chimed five deep musical strokes, the
canary hopped restlessly about his gilt cage, and the last light of the
sweet Spring afternoon, searching the soft shadows of the room, found
the crystal ball on the table and made merry with it.

"Time is still going by," Alden reminded her. "What are you going to
do?"

Madame started from her reverie. "Do? Why, she must come, of course!"

"I don't see why," Alden objected, gloomily. "I don't like strange
women."

"It is not a question of what we like or don't like, my son," she
returned, in gentle reproof. "She is in trouble and she needs something
we can give her."

"When people are in trouble, they usually want either money or sympathy,
or both."

"Sometimes they only need advice."

"There are lots of places where they can get it. Advice is as free as
salvation is said to be."

Madame sighed. Then she crossed the room, and put her hands upon his
shoulders. "Dear, are you going to be cross?"

His face softened. "Never to you, if I know it, but why should strange
women invade the peace of a man's home? Why should a woman who writes
like that come here?"

"Don't blame her for her handwriting--she can't help it."

"I don't blame her; far from it. On the contrary, I take off my hat to
her. A woman who can take a plain pen, and plain ink, and do such
dazzling wonders on plain paper, is entitled to sincere respect, if not
admiration."

[Sidenote: An Invitation]

Smiling, Madame went to her desk, and in a quaint, old-fashioned script,
wrote a note to Mrs. Lee. "There," she said, as she sealed it. "I've
asked her to come to-morrow on the six o'clock train. I've told her that
you will meet her at the station, and that we won't have dinner until
half-past seven. That will give her time to rest and dress. If you'll
take it to the post-office now, she'll get it in the morning."

Alden shrugged his shoulders good-humouredly, kissed his mother, and
went out. He wondered how he would recognise the "strange woman" when
she arrived on the morrow, though few people came on the six o'clock
train, or, for that matter, on any train.

"Might write her a little note on my own account," he mused. "Ask her to
take off her r