“Oh, no, thank you. I don’t want to do that. I only want to feel that there is such a room in the old colonial house, and, when other people are with me in the evening, to hear the ghostly footsteps and voices in the distance. But I don’t want to be near them and away from everybody else. Oh, no,” said Marguerite, laughing and shaking her head. Owlet looked and listened in solemn disapproval. “What do you think about it, ma’am?” inquired Roma, to draw the child out. “I don’t like to say,” she answered. “Oh, but I insist.” “Well, then, if Tom had talked that way I should think Tom was not possessed of common sense.” “Oh!” exclaimed Roma. “Don’t mind her,” pleaded Marguerite. “She don’t know any better. She is such a strange child. Her mind is not right. I do think she is half an idiot.” “Oh, no, indeed, she is not. But where did she pick up that phrase she is so often repeating?” “The Lord knows. I don’t. She has had such a strange life for a child. She has never had any other children to play with—never! nor any permanent nurse; but has been changed from hand to hand as I have traveled from country to country. Don’t mind the poor little devil—I beg pardon. But she is half an idiot.” Owlet fixed the speaker with her large, solemn brown eyes, but made no remark, nor did Roma; for at that instant Mr. Merritt was announced. He had just returned from his Californian trip, and his first call was upon Roma. “Well, my dear, have you had any news?” he inquired after he had shaken hands with all in the room and had taken a seat, and Marguerite had been wheeled into the adjoining chamber. “Not one word. I begin to credit a suggestion that you once made me—that Will Harcourt has crossed the ocean,” Roma replied. “Then I will cause advertisements to be inserted in all the leading papers in the capital cities of Europe.” “I have already done so, and am waiting results. I have another source of anxiety. I have not heard from Mrs. Harcourt since you left, and you know the reason why I cannot write to inquire.” “Yes; I will do so to-day. Hanson has not shown up in any way, I suppose?” “No. I have seen no notice of him or his yacht since that one we both read late in November. Pray, dear friend, never mention the creature’s name in my presence again. I wish to forget his existence.” “His sister, your old schoolmate and bosom friend. She was a fine girl. What of her?” “She was not his sister, nor even his half-sister, thank heaven! He was only the stepson of her stepfather by a former marriage. Reba is traveling in Europe, and our correspondence happily suspended without any painful explanations.” “That is well. And now, my dear, I must leave you, as I have a very busy day before me,” said the lawyer as he shook hands with her and withdrew.