"Every woman is an exceptional something, good friend, if only an exceptional fool. I'm rather proud of Margaret Moffatt's determination to have her way, and that idea of finding herself in some cranny of the old world is simply beautiful. I wonder——"
"What, Helen?"
"I wonder if an old lady like me, a lady with hair turning frosty, might, by any possibility, find her real self left back there—oh! ages, ages before—well, before things happened which she never understood?"
Ledyard's eyes grew moist, but he made no reply.
It was three days later that Priscilla Glenn received a note from Margaret Moffatt, but she had already been prepared for it by Doctor Ledyard and Mrs. Thomas.
"Since they think I need a nurse," the note ran, "will you call at eleven to-morrow and see if you consider me sufficiently damaged to require your care? From what father says, I am prepared to succumb to you at once. Both father and I like strong oppositions!"
The June weather had turned chilly after the brief spell of heat, and when Priscilla was ushered into Margaret Moffatt's private library she found a bright cannel coal fire in the little grate, beside which sat a tall, handsome girl in house gown of creamy white.
"And so you are—Miss Glynn?"
As a professional accepts a non de plume, Priscilla had accepted her name.
"Yes. And you are—Miss Moffatt?"