"Perhaps it's a letter," cried Marjorie, springing to her feet; "I ought to have a letter from home to-day. I haven't heard a word since that little note from Aunt Jessie the morning after Barbara was found."
But it was not a letter. Neither was it Mrs. Carleton, who had gone driving with a friend. In a moment the faithful Hortense appeared with a message.
"Madame Randolph has sent to inquire if Mademoiselle Marjorie will come to her apartment for a short time. Her friend has been obliged to go out, and she is alone."
Marjorie clasped her hands in dismay, and turned a little pale.
"Send word you're very busy, and can't possibly come," suggested Elsie. But Marjorie shook her head.
"I shall have to go," she said, with a little gasp. "Mrs. Randolph has been so good to me; she would think it so strange if I didn't come when she sent for me. Say I will be there in a few minutes, Hortense."
"You really are a wonder, Marjorie," remarked Elsie, with involuntary admiration, as Hortense left the room with the message. "I'm sure I should never be able to do it."
"Yes, you would," said Marjorie, smiling and without another word she followed Hortense out of the room.
Marjorie's heart was beating very fast when she rang Mrs. Randolph's bell five minutes later, but when that lady herself opened the door, and greeted her guest with her usual serene cheerfulness, the girl pulled herself together with a mighty effort, and her friend noticed nothing unusual in her manner, except that her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shining.
"I am so glad you could come this afternoon," Mrs. Randolph said, leading the way to the sitting-room. "I haven't seen you for days, and was beginning to feel quite neglected." She spoke playfully, but Marjorie felt the gentle reproach in her tone, and her heart beat faster than ever.