opportunity.

"What time do you do your love making?" he demanded.

Her cheeks reddened a little as she retorted:

"I'm never so foolish. I leave that to you married people. My purpose in life is far more serious."

"Oh, come now," protested her brother-in-law, "I've noticed you and Steell spooning often enough."

Stylishly and tastefully dressed, her face beaming with animation, her eyes sparkling with intelligence, Kenneth's sister-in-law was a pretty, wholesome looking girl. She had beautiful blond hair like her sister, and fine, white teeth that told of good health and perfect digestion. Helen's junior only by three years, she was still unmarried and for the present at least seemed more inclined to remain single and partake of life's pleasures than incur the risks and responsibilities of matrimony. Not that she had been without offers. A girl as attractive and clever could hardly have failed to please the sterner sex. All sorts and conditions of men had prostrated themselves at her tiny, well-shod feet, but, capricious and headstrong, she would have none of them. She was what might be called a singular girl. She liked men, not because of their sex, but because their point of view was different, their grasp of things stronger than her own. One day she must marry. She knew that. It was, she insisted laughingly, an ignoble state of slavery, a humiliating, degrading condition of subjection to the male which every woman must endure, necessary perhaps, but an ordeal to be put off, something unpleasant to be postponed as long as possible, like the taking of a dose of unsavory physic or having a tooth pulled at the dentist's. Meantime, heart whole and fancy free, she enjoyed life to the limit and kept her admirers guessing.

"Oh, I saw such lovely things in the stores," exclaimed the young girl. "I wish I had the money to buy them all."

"You will have when I get back from South Africa," he laughed.

"Don't forget," she laughed. "I'll hold you to that promise. Helen is witness."

"I swear it!" he said with mock solemnity. "You shall have carte blanche in any Fifth Avenue shop to the amount of—$1.75."

"Will you be ready in time?" she laughed, looking around with dismay at the litter of open trunks.

"I won't, if you stay here chattering like a magpie."

"What time does the steamer sail?"

"Eleven o'clock," said Helen.

"We're all coming to see you off. Mr. Steell told me that he's coming, too."

"Not exactly to see me, I'm afraid," smiled Kenneth.

"Who else?" she retorted. "If you mean me, you're mistaken. He doesn't need to make the uncomfortable trip to Hoboken to see me."

Her brother-in-law smiled, amused at her petulance.

"My dear," he said, "you don't know what hardships a man will endure for the girl he's sweet on." With mock seriousness he went on: "Say sis, Helen and I have been having an argument. Who does Steell come here for—for you or for me?"

Ray burst into merry laughter.

"How silly you are, Ken. For me, of course. At least, I flatter myself that——" With a wink at her sister she added facetiously: "Of course, one never knows when dealing with these handsome men. And Helen is quite adorable. If I were a man, I should be crazy about her."

Helen held up a protesting finger.

"Don't talk like that, dear, or he'll believe you."

Kenneth laughed.

"Yes, I'm as jealous as Othello and quite as dangerous. Don't I look it?"

As he spoke, the front door-bell rang downstairs. Ray hastily took up her things.

"Here's company!"

"I hope not!" exclaimed Helen. "I'm in no mood to see anybody."

"I'll see them," whispered Ray, "and say you're out. It won't be the first fib I've told."

She ran lightly out of the room and upstairs, while Helen and her husband went on with the work of packing. They were just stooping together over a trunk when there came a rap on the door, and François appeared.

"A lady to see monsieur."

Kenneth looked puzzled.

"A lady? What lady?"

Helen laughed merrily. Triumphantly, she exclaimed:

"It's my turn now to be jealous."

"Not exactly a lady, monsieur. An elderly person."

"What's her name?"

"Mrs. Mary O'Connor."

Kenneth smiled broadly.

"Mary O'Connor, my old nurse. Well, well, show her right in." Turning to his wife he added quickly: "Dear old soul—no doubt she's heard I'm off to Africa and wishes to say good-bye."

An instant later an old woman bent with age and with a kindly face framed with silvery white hair came in, hands outstretched. Without any air of condescension on his part, Kenneth went forward to greet her. Through all the long stretch of years, from his boy days to his manhood he had never forgotten how kind Mary had been to him when a child, taking the place of the mother he had lost in infancy. A Christmas was never allowed to pass without a fat turkey for the old nurse and many a little present of money had accompanied the bird. The old woman's lips quivered as she said tremulously:

"It's a long way you're going, Mr. Kenneth."

"Oh, I'll soon be back, Mary," he rejoined jovially.

She shook her head.

"It's a long way and I'm getting old."

The promoter laughed boisterously. Leading her gently to a chair he exclaimed:

"Old! Nonsense; You're just as young to me now as when I first remember you."

The old lady smiled. Nodding her head feebly, she replied:

"When you used to play hide-and-seek with me. When I wanted to put you to bed you were nowhere to be found."

Helen laughed while Kenneth protested:

"Oh, come now, Mary, I wasn't so bad as that."

"No. You weren't bad—just lively and natural as all healthy children. You were always a better boy than your brother."

Helen looked up quickly.

"Your brother, Kenneth? I never heard you speak of a brother."

He looked at the old lady in amazement.

"My brother? What brother?"

The old lady smiled.

"That's so—you never knew. You were too young to remember. Yes, you had a brother—a twin brother. People hardly knew you apart. There was only one way in which your mother and I could tell."

"What was that?" demanded the promoter eagerly.

"He had a scar. He caught his hand in some machinery when a baby and it left a scar in the index finger of the left hand."

Transfixed, Kenneth listened open-mouthed. At last breaking the spell, he exclaimed:

"I never heard of him. You never spoke of him before."

"How should you remember?" went on the old woman. "It's many years ago. Your father and mother are dead. You have no relatives living. No one knows. But I know."

"Did he die?" asked Kenneth, deeply interested.

The old lady nodded affirmatively.

"I shall never forgive myself. It was my fault. You were playing together in the garden. I didn't dream either of you could come to harm. I went into the house for a moment to get something. When I came back your brother was gone—no trace of him anywhere. We never saw him again. Your father, heart-broken, offered a fortune for news of him. The police hunted high and low all over the country. There was no trace. Some gypsies had passed recently through the town. I always suspected them. That is thirty years ago and more."

"So it's not even known if he's dead," interrupted Kenneth eagerly.

The beldame shook her head sorrowfully, as she answered sagely:

"Oh, he's dead all right. That's sure. There was money left to him by your grandfather. For years the lawyers advertised for news of him. But it was no good. If he'd been alive, he'd have claimed his own."

"He might still be alive, yet unaware of his identity," broke in Helen, who was a keenly interested listener. She had been so accustomed to regard her husband as the only son of parents, both of whom were dead, that the mere possibility of his having a brother awakened her curiosity.

Still under the spell of the old