“Well, you were not altogether to blame,” said Miss Allyn, consolingly. “The circumstances were startling. It would have convinced almost any one.”
There was a peal at the bell as Miss Allyn spoke, and the next moment Dollie had ushered a caller into the little parlor.
“It is Dr. Brookes,” whispered Marion to Miss Allyn. “I asked him to come, but do you know I almost dread to face him, now that I know how I have wronged him.”
“Nonsense!” said Miss Allyn, sensibly. “Just put that out of your mind, Marion. You did him an injustice and have regretted it sincerely. There is no use in torturing yourself by telling him about it.”
“But his picture,” said Marion, a little helplessly.
“Tell him exactly how you got it, and he will probably explain. No doubt the girl stole it while she was working for his mother.”
Marion took her advice and followed it carefully, telling him, in the presence of her friends, of Kittie’s death, but without mentioning the poor girl’s words about the picture.
Dr. Brookes looked grieved to hear of the girl’s death, but he smiled when he saw the photograph of himself. It was just as Miss Allyn had guessed—the little maid had stolen it.
“The first instance on record of any young lady caring enough about me to want my picture,” remarked the young man, with a mischievous glance at Miss Allyn.
For once the young lady was not ready with a gay reply, and Marion, with great tact, managed to turn the conversation.