The past few days had sorely taxed Marjorie’s composure and endurance. Besides her worry over money matters, her awakening to Chichester Barnard’s duplicity had shocked her beyond measure. The disillusion had been complete. Barnard was but a common fortune hunter; Janet his quarry, and her paid chaperon only a plaything to amuse his idle hours. Marjorie burned with shame and indignation at his daring to hold her so cheaply. What had she done that he should have so poor an opinion of her intelligence and integrity as to believe she should tamely submit to being made a cat’s-paw? The thought scorched her like a white-hot iron. She saw Barnard with new eyes; he was undeniably handsome, entirely selfish, plausible--ah, too plausible; it had been his charm of manner and fascinating personality which had held her captive for so long, and quieted her haunting doubts of his sincerity. She felt it to be her duty to warn Mrs. Fordyce of Barnard’s true character, but hesitated, fearing her motive might be misconstrued. Janet would undoubtedly declare her interference sprang from jealousy. It was obvious that the young girl was flattered by Barnard’s attention, and Marjorie reasoned that opposition would but fan her liking into an impetuous espousing of his cause, and that might lead to the very thing Marjorie most heartily wished avoided. During wakeful nights she decided to temporize; to quietly undermine whatever influence Barnard had gained over Janet’s impressionable nature, and to see that his friendly footing in the household was discontinued. But it was uphill work, for Barnard had ingratiated himself with every member of the family, except Duncan, and Marjorie had sought her room after luncheon thoroughly discouraged. A tap at the door disturbed her, and on opening it, she found Mrs. Fordyce’s maid standing in the hall. “Mrs. Fordyce would like to have you stop in her boudoir, Miss Marjorie, before you go out,” she said respectfully. “Tell Mrs. Fordyce I will come at once, Blanche,” and pausing long enough to get her coat and furs, she ran down to the first bedroom floor and entered the boudoir. With a word of apology, she passed Calderon Fordyce, and sat down on the lounge by his wife. “Father’s on the rampage,” announced Janet, uncurling herself in the depths of a large chair. “He pretends to be awfully shocked at the Calhoun-Cooper dinner last night.” “There’s no pretense about it,” fumed Fordyce. “Why I was invited is beyond me....” “I suppose they thought they couldn’t ask me without you,” broke in Janet. “Duncan hasn’t been decently civil to Joe, and Marjorie wasn’t invited either.” “If you had followed Marjorie’s advice you would not have accepted the invitation, Calderon,” said Mrs. Fordyce mildly. “Were the Coopers so very _outré_?” “Oh, the Coopers themselves weren’t bad,” admitted Fordyce. “You seemed to get on beautifully with Pauline during dinner,” protested Janet.