"Glad to see you out again, my dear," she said to Mrs. Bethune. "And this is your girl come back to you--grown past all knowledge. I hear wonders about her music," kindly. "Charity, may I take her away for a few minutes, presently? I want to hear this music Mr. Warde extols so. Where is he?" looking round. Marjorie's cheeks, in spite of her usual self-control, turned scarlet. But the Duchess's gaze was arrested by the look on Mr. Pelham's face. He, still standing with a hand on Mrs. Bethune's chair, was looking at Marjorie with a surprised appeal in his expression, as if he, too, was wondering at her sudden flush. "Oh!" thought the Duchess, "I imagined it was Charity. Was I mistaken then? Not about the girl, if those rosy cheeks are to be trusted." "Why isn't Mr. Warde here?" she asked of Marjorie, who, in obedience to her gesture, turned with her towards the house. "He is at the cathedral. It is his week." And the Duchess thought she guessed rightly the reason of the agitation she detected in Marjorie's voice. "The Blackton man will be unsuccessful," she settled. "But Charity is pretty enough to console him, and it will be a good marriage for them both." This great lady was never more happy than when arranging marriages amongst her friends. Marjorie did not dream how her sudden flush had betrayed her, and forgot lovers and the difficulties they caused when she sat down to the piano. But perhaps it was the perplexity in her mind that conveyed itself to the listener, through the plaintive melody ending in a staccato phrase which fell from her fingers. The Duchess sat at a little distance, viewing with approval the delicate face, framed in its bright hair. [Illustration: "Hush! Barbe, don't call!" entreated Sandy.--_p. 168_.] "Good, pure, true, and strong," she settled; "and," as a sudden conviction struck her, "she is beautiful, like her mother was ten years ago. Dressed"--her thoughts following along the same way as Charity's--"well, she would be a success. She is wasted on Mr. Warde. Shall I interfere?" She was so deep in thought, working out a sudden plan, that she did not notice when Marjorie ceased playing. Marjorie, glancing at her, asked softly-- "Was that too sad? Shall I try something else?" But in a moment the Duchess rose briskly, and put her hand kindly on Marjorie's shoulder. "No, my dear. I shouldn't like that spoiled by anything else. Mr. Warde is right. You have a gift. But a girl like you should not be sad or--or perplexed. Forgive an old woman. Is something troubling you?" Marjorie looked up into the keen eyes above her. "Not troubling," she hesitated, "only things are sometimes perplexing."