“I promise not to, but....” “Are you and Marjorie speaking of the ruby?” questioned Janet. Pauline had finally interrupted her conversation with Tom by claiming the latter’s undivided attention, and Janet had overheard Potter’s remarks. “That’s no secret, Doctor; it is in the evening papers. I teased father to show it to me just before you came in”--Marjorie’s heart sank like lead with forebodings of more trouble. “It’s the most beautiful stone I’ve ever seen,” went on Janet enthusiastically. “A real pigeon-blood ruby. I could hardly put it down.” Marjorie lost Potter’s reply; her attention being centered on Perkins. The butler was bending over and speaking confidentially to Mr. Calderon Fordyce. As the whispered colloquy progressed Calderon Fordyce’s face grew set and stern. With a quiet word of apology to the two girls sitting on either side of him, he pushed back his chair and left the room. “Do you suppose Mrs. Fordyce is worse, Doctor?” questioned Marjorie. Potter looked troubled as he beckoned to Perkins. “Does Mr. Fordyce wish me to go to his wife?” he inquired, as the butler stopped behind him. “No, sir. Mr. Fordyce has gone to answer a telephone message, sir. Champagne, Miss Langdon?” and before she could stop him, he had refilled her glass. “Have you seen Mrs. Fordyce, Doctor?” asked Marjorie, as Perkins passed on. “Yes, just before dinner. She seemed immensely improved.” “Do you think I could see her later?” She tried hard to suppress all anxious longing, but it crept into her voice, and Potter examined her white face with keen intentness. “I don’t think it would be wise,” and Marjorie’s sensitive nerves quivered under the peculiar intonation of his voice. Were they all in league to keep her from confiding her troubles to Mrs. Fordyce, her one friend? To Duncan Fordyce the dinner was interminable. Fortunately the very young girls who had fallen to his share were so taken up with talking of their affairs that his part in the conversation sank to monosyllables, to his great relief. He was not in the mood to make small talk. His father had motioned to him to keep his seat when he rose on receiving Perkins’ message, and much against his will he had done so. He did not like his father’s expression; it betokened bad news. His thoughts instantly sped to his mother, but Perkins’ hurried whisper relieved that anxiety, and he was just starting to enjoy his untasted salad when, happening to look down the table, he caught Marjorie’s eyes. Their expression of dumb despair stirred him out of himself.