years, which had taken
their toll of Mary's beauty and fascination, and brought complete
disillusionment to herself, she had almost forgotten that old phase;
moreover, it was many years since she had visited Europe and
correspondence between the two friends, once so intimate, had almost
ceased before the war. During that long interval she had heard nothing
of her except that she was running a hospital in Buda Pesth, but
shortly after the close of the war she had been distressed to learn
from a member of one of the various commissions to Vienna that Countess
Zattiany was ill in a sanitarium. She had written at once, but
received no reply. Now she feared that some adventuress had taken
advantage of a superficial resemblance--she dismissed Mr. Dinwiddie's
protestations of the exactness of that resemblance as the maunderings
of a weakened memory playing about among the ghosts of its youth--to
scheme for the Ogden fortune. When told that Judge Trent was evidently
shielding the woman her suspicions were redoubled. She had
consistently hated Judge Trent for fifty years.

If, on the other hand, the creature were really Mary's daughter--and
could prove it--well, she would make up her mind what course to take
when she met her.

"I'll wait in the library," she announced, and moved majestically down
the hall. Then at a sound she paused and glanced toward the stair
which rose on the left, opposite the library. A woman was descending,
a woman only an inch or two shorter than herself and no less stately,
with ashen blonde hair coiled low on her graceful neck and wearing a
loose gown of pale green crepe with a silver girdle.

"My God!" exclaimed Mrs. Oglethorpe in a loud imperious voice, as if
commanding the Almighty to leap from his throne and fly to her
assistance. Then she leaned heavily on her cane.

The lady came quickly down the stairs and made a peremptory signal to
the butler. As he disappeared she walked forward more slowly and
paused within a few feet of her agitated guest. Her eyebrows were
slightly raised, her face impassive. Not even those sharp old eyes
staring at her guessed that she had been completely taken by surprise
and was inwardly quaking.

Mrs. Oglethorpe could not speak for a moment. The years had dropped
from her. She was once more a young woman come to spend the day with
her favorite friend . . . or to attend a reception in the stately
formal house on Murray Hill . . . high rooms filled wit