But Lawrence heard no more. At the mention of that name, the smile seemed to freeze upon his lips, and something like a red-hot iron seared through his brain. Mrs. Ogden Wilmerding! The eccentric widow of the traction magnate, who was said to be one of the five wealthiest women in New York! This accounted for the imposing house crammed with priceless works of art. This accounted for that sudden taking home of her niece and loading the girl with costly clothes and more costly jewels. It was more than likely that she would carry out her plan of adopting Shirley; it was just the sort of thing she would delight in doing. But stranger than anything else was the incredible fact that the girl should be ignorant of a name which was famous in New York. With a tremendous effort Lawrence managed to pull himself together and nod understandingly as Miss Rives finished. "That’s very interesting," he said inanely. "But—er—had you never heard anything about this aunt before you saw her?" "Almost nothing," she confessed. "She quarreled with father, you know, and he wouldn’t allow her name to be mentioned in his presence. I suppose it got to be a sort of habit about the place; and, by the time I was old enough to take notice, the others had stopped talking about her, even when they were alone." With a brain which seemed heavy and dead, Barry tried to carry on his part of the conversation naturally and lightly; but presently the effort became more than flesh and blood could stand, and he rose to take his leave. "You’ll come soon when Aunt Beverly is here?" Shirley questioned as she held out her hand. "I want very much to have you meet her." Barry’s fingers closed around hers, and he smiled naturally, heroically. "Of course," he returned quickly. "I should be delighted to come any time you want me. You can call me at the St. Albans, and, if I’m not there, leave your number with the clerk, and I’ll get your message when I come in." "That’s splendid," she said. "I’ll call very soon. Good-by, and thank you for the flowers." With head high, Lawrence stepped through the doorway and let the velvet hangings fall into place behind him. But in the tapestry-lined hall he stumbled blindly, then, spurred by the presence of the footman, pulled himself together, and entered the elevator. When at last he had donned his things and issued forth into the street, he turned instinctively southward without the slightest idea where he was going, and without a single backward glance at the upper window where a graceful, girlish form stood half revealed against a background of old rose damask. His face was set and rather pale; his gray eyes showed dumbly a little of the despair which filled his soul at the presence of this tremendous, insurmountable barrier which had suddenly reared itself between him and the girl—he loved. *CHAPTER XXXI.* *DESPAIR.*