right person, and for a period that actually extended itself over
years the right person was not to be found, and the old lady was
consequently miserable and unmanageable.

Then came the advent of Mrs. Clay, a dark, silent, dignified
widow, who more than met all requirements, and who became a
companion figure to the little, fussing, over-dressed old lady.
From the day she first arrived at the Frothingham mansion Mrs.
Clay never failed her old employer for so much as a single hour.
For fifteen years she managed the house, the maids, and, if the
truth were known, the old lady herself, with a quiet, irresistible
efficiency. But it was early remarked that she did not manage her
small daughter with her usual success. Magsie was a fascinating
baby, and a beautiful child, quicker of speech than thought, with
a lovely little heart-shaped face framed in flying locks of tawny
hair. But she was unmanageable and strong-willed, and possessed of
a winning and insolent charm hard to refuse.

Her mother in her silent, repressed way realized that Magsie was
not having the proper upbringing, but her own youth had been hard
and dark, and it was perhaps the closest approach to joy that she
ever knew when Magsie glowing under her wide summer hats, or
radiant in new furs, rushed up to demand something preposterous
and extravagant of her mother, and was not denied.

She was a stout, conceited sixteen-year-old when her mother died,
so spoiled and so self-centred that old Lady Frothingham had been
heard more than once to mutter that the young lady could get down
from her high horse and make herself useful, or she could march.
But that was six years ago. And now--this! Magsie had evidently