this world at her feet, was in danger.

"And who sent this?" Mrs. Pennington demanded.

It was Christmas Day, and "this" was an Indian basket of holly and
mistletoe, conspicuous, among many costly floral offerings, by its
simplicity. The card which accompanied it read, "To her Ladyship, from
the Candy Man," but this Mrs. Pennington had not seen.

"Oh," answered her niece, "I don't know how to tell you who he is. He is
a stranger here--a Mr. Reynolds. I met him at Mr. Knight's, where you
remember I went to get some material for my paper for the Tuesday Club."

This was all true, and, unaccompanied by a heightened colour, might
have allayed her aunt's lurking suspicions, born of that unexplained
interview in the park with some one who was not Augustus.

Only once had Mrs. Pennington referred to this, asking half jokingly if
Margaret Elizabeth had ever discovered the identity of that person;
putting a somewhat disdainful emphasis upon "person."

"Never," Margaret Elizabeth could at that time assure her, and she
added, "I do not expect to, and certainly do not wish to."

Mrs. Pennington, however, had her intuitions in regard to this unknown
individual. She anticipated his reappearance, and, like a wise general,
in time of peace prepared for war. Keeping her vague fears to herself,
she increased her vigilance.

Annoyed because of that uncalled-for blush, far away from the Little Red