r--oh, Mr. Vandegrift, let us not waste time in futile fencing.
You must know that Margaret Elizabeth has deceived me; has been guilty
of base ingratitude; has been meeting clandestinely a person--a mere
adventurer. I can scarcely bring myself to say it. My brother Richard's
daughter!" Mrs. Pennington had recourse to her handkerchief.

Uncle Bob uncrossed his knees and sat bolt upright. "Madame," he
exclaimed, "I am sorry for your distress, whatever its cause, but let me
assure you, you are under some grave mistake. My niece has met no one
clandestinely, and is incapable of deceit and treachery."

"Do I understand then that it was with your connivance?"

"I have connived at nothing, Madame, and I know of no adventurer." Uncle
Bob took his penknife from his pocket and tapped on the table with it.
His manner was legal in the extreme. He was enjoying himself.

Mrs. Pennington looked over her handkerchief. "But she says,
herself----"

"Says she has been guilty of deceit and treachery? Has been meeting an
adventurer clandestinely? Pardon me, but this is incredible."

"What is incredible, Uncle Bob?" came a voice from the half-open door,
unmistakably that of the accused. "I'll be there as soon as I get off my
raincoat," it added.

"It is hopeless to try to make you understand," Mrs. Pennington almost
sobbed, the while sounds from the hall indicated that some one beside
Margaret Elizabeth was removing a raincoat. A horrible dread suddenly
smote her, lest it be that person. A sleepless night and her distress
had unnerved her. She felt herself unequal to the encounter.

She glanced about helplessly for a way of escape, but there was none.
"Tell him not to come in. I cannot see him now," she begged tragically
of Uncle Bob, who, honestly mystified now, stood between her and the
door, looking from it to her.

"She says not to come in," he repeated to Margaret Elizabeth's
companion, who was following her in.

"Why, Aunt Eleanor, I didn't know it was you! They told me your train
was late. And oh, what is the matter? What are you crying about? Is it
I?" Margaret Elizabeth, with raindrops on her hair, knelt beside her
aunt and embraced her, pressing a cool cheek against that lady's
fevered one.

Mrs. Pennington, her face hidden in her hands, continued to murmur, "I
cannot see him. I cannot see him."

"In the name of heaven, Eleanor, why can't you see me? Why must I not
come in?" demanded a familiar voice which brought her