“No, I was not at home when she called on my mother.” “Then you have missed meeting one of the most charming characters in this city,” exclaimed Barnard vigorously. “Come with me now and we’ll stop in and wish the dear old lady merry Christmas.” But Duncan held back. “I am afraid I....” “Oh, come along; we need only stay a moment. Your calling will gratify Madame Yvonett. I overheard her asking Miss Langdon to bring you to see her.” Duncan’s indecision vanished. “Very well,” he said, and the two men continued their walk up the Avenue to Thirteenth Street. They found the small house gay with Christmas wreaths, and a stiff and starched Minerva ushered them into Madame Yvonett’s presence. Duncan’s eyes brightened in keen appreciation as he bowed low before the stately Quakeress. In fichu and cap, tied with a dainty bow under her chin, and her soft gray silk, she looked the embodiment of beautiful old age. “I am pleased to meet thee, Friend Fordyce,” she said, giving him her hand. “Thy sister, Janet, has spoken of thee most often.” “I wanted to come before,” Duncan drew up a chair near her, “but a great deal of my time has been taken up with business.” “Business!” echoed Barnard, genuinely surprised. “I took you for a gentleman of elegant leisure, didn’t you, Marjorie?” “Didn’t I what?” inquired Marjorie, entering from the dining-room where she had been putting the finishing touches to the tea-table. “Did you know our friend here,” waving his hand toward Duncan, “is a hardy son of toil?” Marjorie laughed. “Janet told me, Mr. Fordyce, that you have explored....” “I have ambled about a bit,” admitted Duncan hastily. “But I am not an explorer, only a lawyer.” “Indeed? I had no idea of it!” answered Marjorie. “Aunt Yvonett, the eggnog is ready.” “Will thee come, friend, and drink a kindly glass with me?” asked the Quakeress, laying her hand on Duncan’s arm. “Gladly,” and he led her into the dining-room, and to her high-back chair. Barnard detained Marjorie as she was about to follow her aunt. “Have you no word of greeting for me?” he pleaded, lowering his voice. “Hush!” she cautioned. “Why did you bring Mr. Fordyce here?” Barnard glanced at her flushed cheeks in some surprise. “We were walking together, and I suddenly hungered for a sight of you. I then recollected having heard you say that you were coming here to be with your aunt this afternoon, so I suggested dropping in.” “Tell me, Chichester, is that chattel mortgage all arranged?” she asked in an urgent whisper. He nodded affirmatively, and her heart bounded with relief. “I’ll bring you the papers; stay, on second thought you had better come to the office.” He saw the shadow that crossed her face, and added reproachfully, “Am I so hateful to you?” “That’s a debatable question,” she parried, avoiding his glance. By an effort he checked a bitter retort as she pulled back the portière, and, his face resuming its customary smiling mask, he followed her into the dining-room.