"You remind me more of my little Barbara every day," Mrs. Randolph said to her once, and Marjorie felt that she had received a great compliment. She was growing to feel a deep interest in this Barbara, whose tragic death had cast such a shadow of sorrow over her mother's life, but she had too much tact, and was too kind-hearted, to show undue curiosity on a painful subject, and so, though there were many questions she would have liked to ask about this unknown Barbara, she refrained from asking one, and was fain to content herself with the stray bits of information that Mrs. Randolph or Beverly occasionally let fall. When Mrs. Randolph was well again Marjorie greatly missed the daily chat, and pleasant hour of reading aloud. The drives with Aunt Julia, shut up in the brougham, with only one window open, proved a most unsatisfactory substitute, but her aunt was very kind, and showed so much real interest in the Christmas box she was preparing for her dear ones at home that Marjorie reproached herself bitterly for not finding Aunt Julia's society as agreeable as Mrs. Randolph's. But Christmas was drawing near, and there were times when Marjorie fought desperately against the homesickness, which seemed almost greater than she could bear. To add to everything else, she caught a feverish cold, and Mrs. Carleton, who was always nervous about illness, insisted on her remaining in the house; a state of affairs hitherto unknown to healthy Marjorie, who had never in her life spent a day in bed. It was on the second afternoon of headache and sore throat that Mrs. Randolph came to the rescue. Marjorie had come to the end of her resources. She had read till her eyes ached, and sewed on Christmas presents until she felt that she couldn't take another stitch. The longing for fresh air and exercise was almost beyond her endurance, and yet she dared not even open a window, for fear of incurring her aunt's displeasure. Mrs. Carleton and Elsie were out, but Hortense had been left in charge, with strict injunctions to see that Mademoiselle Marjorie kept out of draughts, and took her medicine regularly. Marjorie was just wondering in her desperation whether a walk up and down the steam-heated hotel corridor would be regarded in the light of an imprudence, when there was a ring at the bell, and Hortense announced Mrs. Randolph. "I have only just heard you were ill," the visitor said kindly, taking Marjorie's hand in hers, and looking with sympathetic interest into the pale, woe-begone face. "Your aunt told Beverly at luncheon that you had a bad cold. You should have let me know sooner; I can't have my kind little friend laid up without trying to return some of her goodness to me." "It wasn't goodness at all," said Marjorie, flushing with pleasure; "it was just having a lovely time. I was thinking only yesterday, what a very selfish girl I must be, for I couldn't help being sorry you didn't need me any more, it's so pleasant to be needed."