undeclared age of each. There was not
one among them who was under forty. Most of them had endured many years of
married life before acquiring what she was to have at the outset. Mrs.
Wintermill, for instance: she was sixty-two or three, and had but recently
come into a string of pearls not a whit more valuable than the one that
now adorned her neck and lay hidden beneath the warm fur collar of her
coat.

Her calculations suddenly hit upon something that could be used as a
basis. Mrs. Wintermill's pearls had cost sixty-five thousand dollars.
Sixty-five thousand dollars! She could not resist the impulse to shoot a
swift, startled look out of the corners of her eyes at the silent old man
beside her. That was a lot of money! And it was money that he was under no
obligation to expend upon her. It was quite outside the contract. She was
puzzled. Why this uncalled for generosity? A queer, sickening doubt
assailed her.

"Are--are these pearls really and truly to be mine?" she asked. "Mine to
keep forever?"

"Certainly, my dear," he said, looking at her so oddly that she flushed.
He had read the thought that was in her mind. "I give and bequeath them to
you this day, to have and to hold forever," he added, with a smile that
she could not fail to understand.

"I wanted to be sure," she said, resorting to frankness.

When they entered the Thorpe home, Wade was waiting in the hall with the
butler. His patient, set smile did not depart so much as the fraction of
an inch from its habitual condition. His head was cocked a little to one
side.

"Are we late, Wade?" inquired Mr. Thorpe.

"No, sir," said Wade. "No one has come." He glanced up at the tall clock
on the landing. "It is a quarter past four, sir. Mrs. Tresslyn telephoned
a few minutes ago, sir."

"Ah! That she would be late?"

"No, sir. To inquire if--ahem!--if Mr. Braden was likely to be here this
afternoon."

Anne started violently. A quick, hunted expression leaped into her eyes as
she looked about her. Something rushed up into her throat, something that
smothered.

"You informed her, of course, that Mr. Braden declines to honour us with
his presence," said Mr. Thorpe suavely.

"Yes, sir, in a way."

"Ahem! Well, my dear, make yourself quite at home. Go into the library,
do. You'll find a roaring fire there. Murray, take Miss Tresslyn's coat.
Make her comfortable. Come, Wade, your arm. Forgive me, Anne, if I leave
you to yourself for a few minutes. My joy