Four days! Marjorie kept repeating the words over and over to herself, as if in some way she might learn patience from them. Hardly was she in her own house when she told her mother the whole story, and would talk of nothing else. It seemed as if the ranch and the summer’s pleasures were forgotten; her only thought was to solve this mystery about Olive, and to render this inestimable good turn to Kirk and the members of Daisy’s family. She displayed no interest at all in shopping, or in preparing for college. After one day passed, she decided that she could not possibly wait until Saturday to know the best--or the worst. She must go to Cape May, immediately; she could not sleep until she had found out. “I’m going to telegraph Mrs. Hadley,” she told her mother on Thursday morning. “I hardly slept at all last night, and I am so restless I can’t do anything in the day time.” “But my dear,” remonstrated her mother, “there really isn’t one chance in a hundred of this girl’s being Olive Gravers. There are so many of these amnesia victims--you read about them every day in the papers. Or this Snyder girl might be an escaped criminal, hiding under some such pretence.” Marjorie looked hurt at her mother’s words. “And besides--there’s the dressmaker. It’s very important for you to be here to get your new clothes ready for college.” “Bother clothes!” cried the girl, with her usual indifference. “I’m going to Cape May--this very afternoon--unless you forbid it!” “Do as you like,” sighed Mrs. Wilkinson with resignation. Mrs. Hadley received Marjorie’s telegram while she was at luncheon. She read it and handed it to Dorothy. Dorothy scanned it, frowned, and half closed her eyes. The name sounded strangely familiar. “Marjorie Wilkinson?” she repeated. “Where have I heard that name before?” “You’ve probably heard John and me speak of her,” said Mrs. Hadley. “Now what do you suppose she wants? I wonder if John proposed--” But Dorothy was not listening. “I’ve heard you speak of a Marjorie, but you never mentioned her last name. What school did she go to?” “She graduated from Miss Allen’s Boarding School last June,” replied Mrs. Hadley. “Yes, yes, of course. That is familiar too. Somebody I knew went there--some relative of mine--” “Yes?” said Mrs. Hadley, now giving the girl her undivided attention. Perhaps the presence of Marjorie Wilkinson would help to make her remember who she was. “Can’t you recall the name of the relative?” “No, but she was a near one. Oh, I wish--” But Dorothy’s voice trailed off sadly; her mind had come up against a blank wall. “Well, cheer up!” said the other, encouragingly. “Marjorie can probably tell you the name of every girl in the school--for I believe it isn’t a very large one. And then surely you will know.” Dorothy’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “I believe I’ll stay home from work, and go to meet Miss Wilkinson, if you will let me,” she said. “Of course, dear,” replied Mrs. Hadley, kindly.