“I shan’t be a minute.” Stung by his tone, Marjorie hurried to her desk and rapidly put the drawers in order. As she covered the typewriter she paused and gazed about the pleasant, sunlit room through tear-dimmed eyes. She had spent many happy hours there, for both Admiral and Mrs. Lawrence had done much to make her comfortable, and the work had been interesting and comparatively easy. What had induced the Admiral to credit so monstrous a charge against her? She stiffened with indignation, and picking up the key of her desk, walked over to him. He looked up at her approach, and the full light from the window betrayed the increasing lines and wrinkles about his mouth and eyes. His hair had whitened, and his usually ruddy cheeks were pale. “Here is the key of my desk,” she said, laying it down before him. “The carbon copy of your book is in the right-hand drawer, and your official and business correspondence fills the other drawers. Will you please examine them before I leave.” He rose in silence and went swiftly through the contents of the typewriter desk. “Everything is correct,” he acknowledged, noting with inward approval the neat and orderly arrangement of his correspondence. “Then I will leave; my hat and coat are downstairs,” and with a formal bow Marjorie turned toward the door. “One moment;” the Admiral stepped back to his own desk. “You forget your check; I have made it out for one month in advance, in lieu of notice.” Mechanically Marjorie’s fingers closed over the slip of paper extended to her; then she drew her slender, graceful figure erect. “I am a girl, alone in the world,” she said clearly. “I have had to take your insults today, but thank God, I can refuse to take your money.” The torn check fell in a tiny shower at the Admiral’s feet as the hall door banged to behind her vanishing figure. The seconds had slipped into minutes before the Admiral moved; then he dropped into his desk chair. “What does she see in Chichester?” he muttered. “What is there about that scoundrel which attracts women? Where’s that photograph?” But his search was unavailing; the photograph had disappeared. CHAPTER III QUESTIONS AND QUERIES MARJORIE LANGDON contemplated her small wardrobe as it lay spread out before her on the bed, and then gazed at the passbook open in her hand. She saw the slender balance remaining to her credit at the bank through diminishing glasses, and despair tugged at her heart-strings. “The way of the bread-winner is hard,” she paraphrased bitterly. “I don’t wonder there are so many transgressors in the world. Bless my soul, Minerva, what do you want?” The colored woman, who had entered the bedroom unnoticed a second before, actually jumped at the sharpness of Marjorie’s usually tranquil voice. “’Scuse me, miss; but I knocked an’ knocked at de do’ ’till I was plum’ tired. My, ain’t dem pretty?” catching a glimpse of the dresses on the bed. “Is ye fixin’ ter go ter a party?”