"Now this comes along," said Christopher, encouraged by the effect of his words, "and you begin to fret your poor little soul with all sorts of wild speculations. I wish to the Lord that your mother was a little bit more trusting with her confidences, but when it all comes out it'll prove to be some sister of your grandfather who married a tailor or something, and left a line of pretty girls to work in Biretta's----" "But, Chris, she reminded me so of Annie to-day I almost felt _sick_," Alice said, still frightened and dubious. "Well, that merely shows that you're soft-hearted; it's no reflection on Annie!" Chris said, giving her her paper, and opening his own. But Alice did not open her paper. A maid came in, and moved about noiselessly setting chairs and rugs in order. Another soft light was lighted and the little square table set before the fire. The cool fresh air drifted in at the half-open window, and sent a delicate breath, from Alice's great bowl of freesia lilies, through the peaceful room. The fire snapped smartly about a fresh log, and Alice's great tortoise-shell cat came to make a majestic spring into her lap. "Chris--I'm so worried!" said his wife. "As a matter of fact," said Christopher, quietly, after a while, "did----Annie was very ill, I know, but was there--was there any reason to suppose that there might have been--that such a situation as to-day's might have arisen?" Alice looked at him with apprehension dawning afresh. "Oh, yes--that is, I believe so. I didn't know it then, of course." "I never knew that," Christopher said, thoughtfully. "Well, I didn't at the time, you know. It was--of course it was sixteen--eighteen years ago," Alice said. And in a whisper she added, "Chris, that girl is eighteen!" Christopher pursed his lips to whistle, but made no sound, and looked into the fire. "You see I was only about thirteen or fourteen," Alice said. "I was going to Miss Bennet's school, and we were all living in the Madison Avenue house. Papa had been dead only a year, or less, for I remember that Annie was eighteen, and wasn't going out much, because of mourning. Theodore had been worrying Mama to death, and had left the house then, and Mama was sending him and his wife money, I believe, but of course lots of that was kept from me. Annie was terribly wild and excitable then, always doing reckless things; I can remember when she and Belle Duer dressed up as boys and had their pictures taken, and once they put a matrimonial advertisement in the papers--of course they were just silly--at least that was. But then she began to rave about this man Müller----" "The acrobat!" Christopher, who was listening intently, supplied.