"I thought so. Let me see. Your name you told me is Leonie, did you not?"
"Yes, sir."
"This is Mrs. Chandler, my wife, and my daughter."
Leonie raised her eyes to Evelyn Chandler's face. She remembered it ever after as she saw it then—cold and proud, but more beautiful than any face she had ever seen before. But as her eyes turned, after her slight bow, a curious change came over the blonde countenance, and Evelyn Chandler left the room more hastily than she usually did such things.
Alone in the hall, she allowed an expression of anxiety full play. Her hands rested above her heart, and her brows were drawn in a peculiar frown.
"Leonie Cuyler!" she muttered. "What in Heaven's name is she doing here?"
[CHAPTER IV.]
The first week passed almost without incident.
Leonie came and went with the freedom of a servant, nothing that occurred escaping her knowledge. She watched Lynde Pyne's visits to the house with a sinking of the heart that was indescribable. Not a thing out of the ordinary run of fashionable life had happened. She had discovered nothing either of the thief or Miss Chandler's mysterious connection with herself, and she was beginning to think she never would.