She nodded absently; then turned and studied him covertly as he stood by the fireplace intent on lighting his cigarette, his well-knit, soldierly figure silhouetted against the flickering light from the wood fire blazing on the hearth. They were second cousins, and since his detail with his battery at Fort Myer, Virginia, she had grown to know and admire the fine qualities and kindly heart carefully hidden under his off-hand manner. She debated whether she should take him into her confidence. He was her nearest male relative; he would surely advise her how best to refute Admiral Lawrence’s charge, and help her to prove her innocence of the theft of the codicil. “Where is Aunt Yvonett?” she asked suddenly. “She went upstairs to lie down.” Tom threw a half-burnt match into the fire, crossed the room, and sat down facing Marjorie. “What’s up, Madge?” he questioned gravely. “You are not a bit like yourself. Won’t you tell me the cause?” “I had just decided to ask your advice; thank you for making it easier for me,” a pitiful little smile accompanied the words, and Tom impulsively clasped her hand in his. “Little Cousin,” he began earnestly. “I don’t like to see you so constantly with Chichester Barnard. I am sure he is making you unhappy.” Marjorie whitened to her lips. “I, unhappy?” she exclaimed. “No, you overestimate his abilities.” “No I don’t; Chichester is more than merely handsome, he is fascinating; and his influence is the greater.” Marjorie rose slowly to her feet and a long sigh escaped her. “After all, Tom, I don’t believe I’ll confide in you--you would not understand.” CHAPTER IV TEMPTING FATE MARJORIE, on her way out to keep her appointment with Mrs. Calderon Fordyce, paused in the hall to examine the mail which Minerva, deeply engrossed in the arrival of Miss Rebekah Graves, had deposited on the hat-stand and forgotten. Two of the envelopes contained circulars, and she tossed them back on the marble stand, but the third was a note from their family lawyer curtly informing Marjorie that the savings bank in which Madame Yvonett kept a small reserve account, had failed, and asking her to break the news to her aunt. Marjorie stumbled back and leaned weakly against the newel post, her strength stricken from her. All that Madame Yvonett had been able to save--gone! Oh, it was too cruel to be believed! From upstairs came the sound of voices, and her aunt’s merry laugh rang out cheerily. “The lightest heart makes sometimes heaviest mourning”--the words recurred to Marjorie as she started blindly up the stairs, the lawyer’s letter still clutched in her hand.