"I'll take only a suitcase," Iris declared, "for I can't be bothered with a trunk."
"I wish you'd let Agnes go with you," urged Lucille, who hated to have the girl go alone.
But Iris didn't want to take a maid along, and, too, Agnes didn't want to go.
"I'll go if you say so," Agnes demurred, "but I'd hate to leave here just now. Sam is on one of his spells, and I ought to look after him."
"Oh, yes," and Iris smiled at her, "that's one word for Sam and two for yourself! I think that good-looking young man who calls on you has more power to keep you in Berrien than poor Sam!"
Agnes blushed, but didn't deny it.
So Iris went to Chicago alone. She went to a woman's hotel, and established herself there. Then she set out in search of the church that Mrs. Pell used to attend.
The rector, Dr. Stephenson, was a kindly, courteous old man, who received her with a pleasant welcome. He well remembered Ursula Pell, and was deeply interested in the mystery of her tragic death. It was many years since she had lived in Chicago, and his definite memories of her were largely concerning the pranks she used to play, for even the minister had not been spared her annoying fooleries.
But he knew nothing of any gift of a jeweled chalice, and said he really had no desire for such a thing.
"It would only be a temptation to thieves," he asserted, "and the price of it could be much better expended in some more useful way."