“The more shame to them.” The Quakeress rose abruptly to her feet, her eyes blazing with pent-up wrath. “I care not who accuses my niece--she is innocent of all wrong-doing; and so I will contend with my feeble strength and wit before the world”--in spite of every effort, she was trembling from head to foot. “My feet are already turned toward Eternity, but God will spare me to right so monstrous an injustice against an upright, honorable girl, whose only crime is poverty.” Pauline’s unpleasant laugh was checked by the sudden entrance of a tall man who brushed her unceremoniously to one side. “Madame Yvonett,” said Duncan clearly. “I share your faith in Marjorie----” A low cry burst from the Quakeress, and tears, which no jeer of Pauline’s had been able to call forth, rushed to her eyes. Blindly she caught Duncan’s strong hand and held it close in her trembling fingers. “Marjorie was not turned out of my father’s house, but left of her own accord,” continued Duncan. “Why this young lady should maliciously distort facts”--Pauline changed color as she met his contemptuous gaze--“she alone can explain.” “You are very unjust,” protested Pauline. “I was but quoting Janet; I did not realize your sister’s word was--unreliable.” But the gibe passed unnoticed except by Paul Potter, who had entered a few minutes before with Duncan, and remained standing in the hall. On their arrival they had found the front door wide open, and had been unintentional listeners to Pauline’s charges against Marjorie; the girl’s penetrating voice having carried each word to them with absolute distinctness. “I hoped, Madame Yvonett, that this misunderstanding in which your niece is involved, would not reach your ears,” said Duncan. “I am sure if Miss Calhoun-Cooper pauses to reflect, she will say nothing further on the subject to anyone.” Pauline had indeed been thinking rapidly. It was one thing to brow-beat Madame Yvonett, quite another to antagonize so influential a family as the Fordyces. Her social ambitions might easily be nipped in the bud if Duncan pursued his quixotic course and persuaded his parents to drop the Calhoun-Coopers from their acquaintance. Quickly she decided to modify her tone. “Of course I will not mention the matter to outsiders,” she said. “But mother and I will listen to no compromise unless the pearl necklace is given back.” “Thee must go elsewhere for thy pearls,” declared Madame Yvonett undauntedly. Tom’s account of the loss of his coin flashed into her mind. “Why does thee not question thy brother about the pearls?” “What need?” but Pauline’s fingers clenched in her muff as she put the contemptuous question. “Miss Fordyce’s testimony is most convincing--she saw Miss Langdon steal the necklace.” “One moment,” interrupted Duncan. “My mother, Miss Calhoun-Cooper, will make good your loss, if necessary; but first,” his voice deepened--“I shall take steps to clear Miss Langdon of this preposterous charge, and bring the real thief to book.”