One afternoon she was seated by the hall fireplace busy with some of Phillip’s garments which she had rescued from his trunk in various states of disrepair. Uncle Casper had just put a massive oak log on the andirons, and the silence of the darkening hall was broken only by the hissing and sputtering of the flames as they attacked the damp wood. The door from the drawing-room opened suddenly and Phillip strode in. “Margey!” Something in his tone caused her to drop the garment in her hands and turn quickly toward him. He came into the radius of the firelight, and she saw that his face was pale and troubled. Something white fluttered in his hand. She knew then what had happened, but she only asked quietly: “What is it, Phil, dear?” “This,” he answered. He put the letter he carried into her hand. “I want you to read it to me, Margey. There is something there I don’t understand.” She held it to the light. It was, as she had feared, an old letter from George Corliss. “You haven’t read it?” she asked with sudden hope. “Read it!” he answered. “No; it’s a letter of yours or mamma’s. I went to your room to find a pen; mamma said you had some. It was lying open in the little drawer of the desk and I couldn’t help seeing it. I saw some words: ‘He has learned you want to sell Elaine!’ What does it mean, Margey? Who is it from? I want to know!” For an instant the idea of putting him off presented itself to her; if she lied to him he would believe her and he need not know until summer. She was silent a moment. Phillip moved impatiently, stretched forth a hand toward the letter and drew it back again, staring down at her with troubled eyes. “Margey! What is it?” “It’s from Mr. Corliss, Phil,” she answered quietly. “You are right, dear; you ought to know. Maybe we――I have done wrong in keeping it from you. Get down here beside me, Phil, and I will tell you everything.” “Everything? Why――what――Margey; it isn’t true, is it? We’re not going to sell Elaine?” he cried sharply. “Come,” she answered. He sank to his knees beside her chair and she put one arm over his shoulders, drawing him to her and laying her head against his. Phillip gazed white-faced at the flames. “Don’t say anything until I have finished dear,” she begged. Then she told him. He let her finish uninterrupted. Then he removed her arm quietly and arose and walked back into the shadows toward the doorway. She remained motionless and silent, her eyes on the sputtering flames, until a tear welled over and she brushed it away. Phillip came back and stood beside her, looking not at her but into the fire. “You ought to have told me,” he said in low voice, “you ought to have told me.” Margaret kept silence. “I had a right to know,” he went on. And then, bitterly: “God! what a fool you’ve made me act, Margey! Squandering money up there while our home is being offered for sale to any stranger that can buy it! While you and mamma were struggling along――starving, for all I know――――!”