"How long has Mrs. Lawrence been a widow?"
"Oh, for twenty years and more."
"She has lived here ever since?"
"She has kept her home here, but she was abroad with her daughter for a long time—six or seven years, at least. She was very fond of France—and so was Marcia, perhaps because she was born there."
"Born there?" I repeated, in some surprise.
"Yes. Mr. Lawrence had a very severe illness a few months after his marriage—I don't remember just what it was—and his doctor ordered him to the south of France for a long rest. His wife, of course, accompanied him, and Marcia was born there. I think that is all the story, Mr. Lester."
"Not quite all," I said. "There is still a loose end. What became of Mrs. Endicott and her daughter—I think you said there was a daughter?"
"Yes—Ruth. One of the loveliest girls I ever knew. They came here from Scotch Plains, as I've said, to make their home with Mrs. Endicott's sister, Mrs. Kingdon."
He noticed my start of astonishment, and paused to look at me inquiringly.
"I beg your pardon," I said, "but the name struck me. Miss Lawrence's maid is named Kingdon."