After his departure Madame Yvonett remained seated in the little parlor, her knitting in her lap and her usually industrious fingers at rest, while her thoughts centered themselves on Tom’s account of the disappearance of his coin. “I wish Marjorie had not been present,” she said aloud. “Did you call me?” inquired Miss Rebekah, as she divested herself of her coat and gloves in the hall. “All alone, Cousin Yvonett? Why, Marjorie told me she was surely coming in to be with you.” * * * * * Marjorie had fully intended stopping in to see her aunt that morning, but she had been delayed in reaching Center Market, and afterwards, having an errand to do on F Street, she had decided to walk instead of taking a street car. Turning the corner at Ninth and F Streets she came face to face with Chichester Barnard. “What good luck to meet you!” His tone of pleasure was convincing in its heartiness, and Marjorie’s eyes danced. “Which way are you going?” “To Brentano’s.” “I have an errand there, too,” falling into step beside her. “I had a telephone a short time ago from Miss Janet asking me to lunch with them.” “She said she intended to invite you;” some of the sparkle had disappeared from Marjorie’s eyes. “Can you come?” “Yes, fortunately this is not a very busy day with me,” he raised his hat to Mrs. Walbridge who passed them in her automobile. “Are you and Miss Janet going to Mrs. Walbridge’s Christmas Eve dance?” “I think so; here we are,” and she led the way inside the book-store. It did not take her long to complete her errand, and she found Barnard waiting for her at the entrance, a magazine tucked under his arm. “All ready?” he inquired, holding open the door for her. “Are you going to do any more shopping?” “No.” “Then take a walk with me?” eagerly. “We don’t have to be at the Fordyce’s until one o’clock.” “I told Aunt Yvonett I would run in for a few minutes on my way uptown....” “You can go there after lunch,” broke in Barnard. “Besides, there’s a business matter I must talk over with you.” A premonition of bad news sent a faint shiver down Marjorie’s spine, and she glanced almost pleadingly at her companion. “What----?” she began, then stopped. “Where shall we go?” “Suppose we walk around the White Lot,” he suggested, after a moment’s thought. “We’re not likely to be interrupted there,” turning to bow to some friends. “Very well,” agreed Marjorie briefly, quickening her pace, and talking of indifferent subjects they made their way up busy F Street, across Fifteenth, back of the Treasury, and round to the Ellipse. Barnard pointed to one of the empty benches which stood on the outer edge of the huge circle of well-kept turf, and Marjorie followed him to it. “Well, what is your news?” she demanded, after waiting for him to speak. “You are so literal, Madge,” he said, with a half sigh. “Give a poor beggar a chance to look at you; I’m reveling in having you to myself again.”