went in to lunch. Later, in the big automobile, they rode in a different
direction from any that Rose had ever travelled over, and she looked
up at Uncle John, as if she were wondering if he had forgotten that
there was a call to be made before they turn homeward.

He turned to the right, and then, after a short ride, drove up a long
private avenue bordered with odd, foreign-looking trees. Although the
foliage was gone, one could see by the form of the trunk and branches
that they were not the trees usually seen at Avondale. The house, a
stately homestead, stood well back from the street, and the porch,
with its colonial pillars, gave grandeur to the entrance. And when
they were seated in the handsome parlor, Rose looked about her, and
wondered who it might be that Uncle John had brought her to see.

A slight sound, a rustling of silken drapery, and a young woman, lovely
as a vision, entered, offered her hand to Captain Atherton, and then
turning, she looked at the little girl whose brown eyes told of
admiration.

"And this, John, is Rose? Little Rose Atherton?"

"This truly is my little Rose. And now, Rose, this is Miss Iris
Vandmere, and I wish you two to be the best of friends. Tell me, do
you remember if you have ever met her, or seen her before to-day?"

"Oh, yes, _yes_!" cried Rose. "She is the lovely lady in the locket
picture, I _know_ she is!"

"I am, indeed, the girl in the locket miniature, and now, as you have
seen me before coming here, don't look upon me as a stranger. I want