The Yellow Face

by Fred M. White

Serena was alert and eager in a moment. Jack could see that the fighting look had returned to her face; her eyes dilated strangely. She seemed to guess by some subtle instinct exactly what was going to happen.

"My sister," she whispered. Her voice was very strained and low. "Something tells me that my sister is here. I pray you go away and get rid of her at once. Tell her any lie, invent any falsehood. If you have the slightest feeling for the most miserable woman in the world you will do this thing for me."

"But it is too late," Jack protested. "Lady Barmouth is with me; she is waiting in the hall at the present moment, and she has already seen your face."

"But I do not understand," Serena cried, stretching out her hands hopelessly. "I have but one sister whom I believe to be living, and her name is Grace. Lady Barmouth cannot possibly be anything to me."

"Lady Barmouth is your sister all the same," Jack explained. "She married Lord Barmouth after you left home; she has told me your sad story, and you must believe that she has been looking for you everywhere. Surely you would not punish yourself for that which was after all merely an act of girlish folly?"

Serena covered her face with her hands and burst into tears. Her head fell forward on the table. Presently an arm stole about her neck. When she looked up again it was to meet the tender and softened gaze of Lady Barmouth.

"And so we meet again like this after all these years," Lady Barmouth said gently. "Oh, my dear Serena, how could you go off like that; how could you leave us all without a word or a sign? Our father was a harsh man; his pride was his besetting sin, but he would have forgiven you and taken you to his heart again if only you had returned to the old home. Didn't you suppose that I cared? And after all said and done, what is your crime? You trusted a man who was not worthy of your affection, and he deserted you because you lacked the money for which he married you. If that is a crime, then there are many thousands of poor women in the world in the same sad plight."

Meanwhile Jack and Claire had crept quietly from the room. It would have been indelicate to remain there in the circumstances. Jack, looking at Claire, noted that the tears were also in her eyes.

"What a strangely pathetic thing," Claire murmured. "How did it come about, Jack?"

Jack explained the story of the photograph, but Claire was hardly listening. It seemed such a strange, sad story to her, this pathetic meeting between the two sisters.