"Your oldest daughter?" Marjorie heard her exclaim; "you amaze me!"

Midget had no thought of eavesdropping, and as the piano was near the
open window, surely they could hear her practising, and so knew she was
there.

But Mrs. Maynard answered, in a low, serious voice, "Yes, my oldest
girl. She is not our child. She is a foundling. We adopted her when an
infant."

"Really?" said Mrs. Corey, much interested. "How did that happen?"

"Well," said Mrs. Maynard, "my husband desired it, and I consented. She
has grown up a good girl, but of course I can't feel toward her as I
feel toward my own children."

"No, of course not," agreed Mrs. Corey. "The others are all your own?"

"Yes, they are my own."

"She doesn't know this, does she?"

"Oh, no, we have never let her suspect it. She thinks I am her mother,
and she thinks I love her as I do my own children. But it is hard for me
to pretend affection for her, when I remember her humble origin."

"Your husband? Does he care for her?"

"He feels much as I do. You see, she is not of as fine a nature as our