“I’d like Joe to hear that,” chuckled Tom. “He and I were at Lawrenceville together, and I had enough of his purse-pride there. The Calhoun-Coopers--don’t forget the hyphen, Cousin Yvonett--have leased your old house on Scott Circle.” Marjorie, her observation quickened by the deep love and veneration in which she held her aunt, detected the shadow which crossed the benign old face and the dimming of the bright eyes as memories of other days crowded upon the Quakeress, and she swiftly changed the subject. “Cousin Rebekah Graves is coming this afternoon to spend the winter with us,” she volunteered. “What day can we bring her to Fort Myer, Tom?” “Come this Friday----” he stopped speaking as Minerva appeared from the hall and approached Marjorie. “Hyar’s a note done come fo’ yo’, Miss Marjorie, and de chuffer’s waitin’ fo’ an answer.” Marjorie scanned the fine, precise writing; it was not a hand she recognized, and handwriting to her was like a photograph. Excusing herself, she tore open the envelope and perused the note. “Listen to this, Aunt Yvonett,” she began and read aloud: Sheridan Circle. “DEAR MISS LANGDON: I had expected to make your acquaintance before this date, but moving into my new home has occupied all my time. Can you come and take tea with me this afternoon at five o’clock? I am an old school friend of your mother’s, and as such I hope you will overlook the informality of my invitation. Trusting that I shall see you later, believe me, Sincerely yours, Wednesday. FLORA FORDYCE.” “It must be Janet Fordyce’s mother,” added Marjorie. “They have bought the Martin house. Who was Mrs. Calderon Fordyce before her marriage, Aunt Yvonett?” Madame Yvonett shook her head. “I cannot tell thee. I was abroad when thy mother was a schoolgirl, and knew none of her classmates. Will thee accept Mrs. Fordyce’s invitation?” “Of course. Cousin Rebekah’s train arrives at three-thirty; I will have plenty of time to meet her and bring her here first. I must answer Mrs. Fordyce’s note,” and pushing back her chair she hastened into the parlor which was fitted up as a living-room. She was sealing her note when Tom Nichols joined her. “Let me give it to the chauffeur,” he exclaimed, taking the envelope from her. “I’ll come right back.” Marjorie was still sitting before the mahogany desk when Tom returned. “May I smoke?” he inquired, pulling out his cigarette-case.