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 tinually and tried to make him feel that he had slipped socially.

On the afternoon of that preceding John's departure, a young woman called at the rectory and asked for James. As luck would have it, it was the housemaid's afternoon out, and John, who happened to be passing through the hall when the bell rang, opened the door.

The young woman, who was pretty but fragile looking, did not speak at once.

"Did you wish to see Mrs. Eaton?" John asked. "Because, I'm sorry, she's off visiting."

"I came to see young Mr. Eaton," said the young woman. "Mr. James Eaton."

John could not have explained why this simple statement should give him a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, but it did.

"Well, you can leave any message with me," he said slowly. "I am John Eaton—a brother."

"He isn't here?"

John shook his head.

"I could wait."

"Yes. But there's no telling when he'll be home. Not before tea time, I imagine."

The young woman's face hardened.

"I've walked all the way from Westchester village," she said, and then her eyes brightened a little. "You don't remember me, but I remember