“Yes--no,” she stammered, the question taking her by surprise. “I used to go every summer to our New England home, but Aunt Yvonett prefers returning to Philadelphia whenever I--I--have a vacation.” She did not add that lack of funds had made them all the year residents of the National Capital, but Duncan guessed the reason underlying her slight hesitancy. Was there no way to win her confidence? “How long were you Admiral Lawrence’s secretary?” “Over two years,” shortly; then a sudden thought struck her. “Do you know Admiral Lawrence?” and the darkness hid her loss of color. “I met him when he was with the Pacific fleet, and before his promotion to rear-admiral. He has the reputation of being a fine type of an American naval officer.” “Have you met him recently?” “I? No. Take care of that curb.” She stumbled somewhat and he assisted her across the street. “My father entertained the officers of the fleet whenever they came to San Francisco, but I doubt if Admiral Lawrence will remember me. I only saw him when home on my college vacations.” Marjorie heaved a sigh of relief; she dreaded his hearing of Admiral Lawrence’s charge against her, for she feared his condemnation. In their daily intercourse she had gradually realized that the silent, reserved man had high ideals and exacted a high standard in his friends. His altered manner of the past week had hurt as well as piqued her; until then she had taken his companionship and good opinion as a matter of course. Duncan was some eight years Janet’s senior, and his silent watchfulness had contributed to Marjorie’s success as a chaperon. He had insisted that his sister show her every consideration, and that her advice should be followed in all social matters. She could ill afford to lose such a friend. “It was very kind of you to call on Aunt Yvonett,” she said, changing the subject abruptly. “I had intended to go before this,” replied Duncan courteously. “Mother and Janet have spoken so frequently of Madame Yvonett that I have been very anxious to meet her.” “Everyone loves Aunt Yvonett,” answered Marjorie warmly. “I wish my fairy godmother had bequeathed me her power of fascination.” Duncan made no reply, and Marjorie ran up the short flight of steps of the Fordyce home, and laid an impatient finger on the electric bell. “I have my key,” remonstrated Duncan, pulling it out and opening the front door. “I hope our long walk hasn’t tired you,” as she stepped past him into the house. “Not a bit,” pausing in the hall while he divested himself of his overcoat. “I feel as fresh as a daisy.” Duncan inspected her carefully, from her well-shod feet to her imperiously carried head, and he was conscious of an accelerated pulse as he caught the full witchery of her lovely eyes. He stepped swiftly to her side, a longing to touch her, to hold her in his arms overmastered him.