t of all three, when she said,
reproachfully, looking at the smiling stranger, "Then it was you all
the time?"

"Was there no one here to introduce you?" asked Miss Loring, looking
from one to the other. "This is Dr. Delavan, dear, and this, doctor,
is Kenneth's sister."

"Thanks. I recognized her at once, and I trust you will forgive me for
not introducing myself sooner, mademoiselle, but--well, we had so many
other more interesting things to speak of."

Evilena glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, and with her arm
about Gertrude walked in silence up the steps. She wanted time to
think over what awful things she had said to him, not an easy thing to
do, for Evilena said too many things to remember them all.

Margeret was in the hall. Evilena wondered by what occult messages she
learned when any one ascended those front steps. She took Miss
Loring's riding hat and gloves.

"Mistress Nesbitt is just resting," she said, in those soft even
tones. "She left word to call her soon as you got back--she'd come
down."

"I'll go up and see her," decided Miss Loring. "Will you excuse us,
doctor? And Margeret, have Chloe get us a bit of lunch. We are all a
little tired, and it is a long time till supper."

"I have some all ready, Miss Gertrude. Was only waiting till you got
back."

"Oh, very well. In five minutes we will be down."

Then, with her arm about Evilena, Miss Loring ascended the wide
stairway, where several portraits of vanished Lorings hung, none of
them resembling her own face particularly.

She was what the Countess Biron had likened her to when the photograph
was shown--a white lily, slender, blonde, with the peculiar and
attractive combination of hazel eyes and hair of childish flaxen
color. Her features were well formed and a trifle small for her
height. She had the manner of a woman perfectly sure of herself, her
position and her own importance.

Her voice was very sweet. Sometimes there were high, clear tones in
it. Delaven had admired those bell-like intonations until now, when he
heard her exchange words with Margeret. All at once the mellow,
contralto tones of the serving woman made the voice of the lovely
mistress sound metallic--precious metal, to be sure, nothing less than
silver. But in contrast was the melody, entirely human, soft,
harmonious, alluring as a poet's dream of the tropics.

CHAPTER XII.

"How that child is petted on, Gideon," and Mrs. Nesbitt looked up from