come in?" demanded a familiar voice which brought her to with a shock.

"Gerrard!" she cried, in her surprise revealing a sadly tear-stained
countenance.

Uncle Bob beat a retreat into the hall, where he paused, chuckling to
himself.

"Certainly it is I. Who should it be?" said her husband, taking a seat
beside her. "Why are you making such a sight of yourself, my dear? When
I telephoned out to know if you had arrived, they said you had and had
gone out again immediately, no one knew where. I came out to talk over
some business with William Knight, and when I was leaving I saw your car
over here, and thought I'd join you; but if my presence is unbearable,
I will withdraw." Mr. Pennington smiled at Margaret Elizabeth.

"Don't be silly, please, I have had a most trying day. I don't expect
you to understand."

Mrs. Pennington was recovering her poise. There was something
irresistibly steadying in her husband's matter-of-fact statement, and in
the sight of her niece sitting back on her heels and looking up at her
with lovely, solicitous eyes. Treachery and deceit became meaningless
terms in such connection.

"You haven't given us a chance to understand, Eleanor. What is the
trouble?" Mr. Pennington demanded.

"Uncle Gerry, I am afraid it is I," said Margaret Elizabeth, picking up
the note from the floor where it had fallen. "I am sorry, you know I am,