Confused by the way her news had been received, the spinster backed hastily out of the room, tears streaming down her face. But Madame Yvonett did not weep; the wound her cousin had inflicted was too deep to be healed so easily. With tightly compressed lips and flashing eyes she sat straight in her high back chair, listening to a spirited argument that was taking place in the hall. Suddenly the portières parted and a handsome young woman, dressed in the extreme of fashion, stepped into the room, followed by the protesting spinster. “Are you Madame Yvonett?” she inquired of the Quakeress. “I am Miss Calhoun-Cooper. I called to see your niece, Marjorie Langdon. This person”--indicating Miss Rebekah with a rude tilt of her head, “informs me she is not here.” The spinster’s face was a study as she glared at Pauline. “Thee has been told the truth,” answered the Quakeress, inspecting her visitor with interest. “My niece is not here.” “Ah, it’s as I suspected; she’s made a quick get-away!” exclaimed Pauline. “Thy manners leave much to be desired, and thy speech more so,” replied Madame Yvonett with gentle dignity. “If thee will express thyself in correct English, I may be able to understand thee and answer thy remark.” “Indeed?” sneered Pauline, her desire to hurt stirred by the merited rebuke. “Then, in plain English--your niece is a thief, and she has run away with my mother’s pearl necklace.” Madame Yvonett sat immovable under the blow; not by the flicker of an eyelash did she show the agony she was enduring. Miss Rebekah, quite unaware that she had left the front door wide open, stood enthralled, watching the scene. “Thee has made a statement which I can both understand and refute,” said Madame Yvonett slowly. “My niece would never stoop to such dishonorable actions as thee accuses her of----” “She will have a chance to clear herself of the charge in a criminal court, _if_ she can,” broke in Pauline with brutal frankness. “My mother and I are quite determined to push the matter to the end.” “Thy determination is as nothing compared to mine,” retorted Madame Yvonett. “Marjorie’s innocence will be proved, and those who have traduced her shall suffer.” “Threats don’t bother me,” Pauline shrugged her shoulders disdainfully. “Janet Fordyce saw Marjorie Langdon steal the necklace from mother”--Madame Yvonett swayed backward; then by a supreme effort, recovered from the deadly faintness which threatened to overcome her. “The Fordyces acknowledge her guilt, and have turned her out of their house.”