But the warning had come too late. In coming down the corridor to join the family in the general sitting-room, as they had always insisted on her doing, she had overheard Miss Louisa's last remark. She stopped short, the happy light dying from her eyes, and the color leaving her cheeks. "Great Heaven! have I been deceived, after all? Was the kindness of the Pendleton girls and their parents only assumed? Was there a monetary reason back of it all?" she mused. A great pain shot through her heart; a wave of intense bitterness filled her soul. "I will test these girls," muttered Miss Rogers, setting her lips together; "and that, too, before another hour passes over my head." After a few moments more of deliberation, she arose, and with firm step passed slowly down the broad hall to the sitting-room. Mrs. Pendleton and her eldest daughter Louisa had left the apartment. Sally alone was there, lounging on a divan, her hair in curl-papers, reading the latest French novel. On her entering, down went the book, and Sally sprung up, her face wreathed in smiles. "I was just wondering if you were lonely or taking a nap," she murmured, sweetly. "Do come right in, Miss Rogers, and let me draw the nicest easy-chair in the room up to the cool window for you and make you comfortable." "How considerate you are, my dear child," replied Miss Rogers, fairly hating herself for believing this sweet young girl could dissemble. "I am glad to find you alone, Sally," she continued, dropping into the chair with a weary sigh. "I have been wanting to have a confidential little chat with you, my dear, ever since I have been here. Have you the time to spare?" Sally Pendleton's blue eyes glittered. Of course Miss Rogers wanted to talk to her about leaving her money to her. Sally brought a hassock, and placing it at her feet, sat down upon it, and rested her elbows on Miss Rogers' chair. "Now," she said, with a tinkling little laugh that most every one liked to hear--the laugh that had given her the _sobriquet_, jolly Sally Pendleton, among her companions--an appellation which had ever since clung to her--"now I am ready to listen to whatever you have to tell me." After a long pause, which seemed terribly irksome to Sally, Miss Rogers slowly said: "I think I may as well break right into the subject that is on my mind, and troubling me greatly, without beating around the bush." "That will certainly be the best way," murmured Sally. "Well, then, my dear," said Miss Rogers, with harsh abruptness, "I am afraid I am living in this house under false colors." Sally's blue eyes opened wide. She did not know what to say. "The truth is, child, I am not the rich woman people credit me with being. I did not tell you that I had lost my entire fortune, and that I was reduced to penury and want--ay, I would have been reduced to starvation if you had not so kindly taken me in and done for me."