and red-gold
hair. You, Charles Stanmore's child--but not mine."

Her voice died out, and Joan understood something of the passion in
this strange woman's soul. But the next moment a hard laugh jarred her
nerves. It was a laugh that had no mirth. Only was it an audible
expression designed to disguise real feelings.

"Oh, I had no grudge against you. You--you with your crumpled face and
big blue eyes. You could make no difference to my life as I saw it.
And yet you did." The woman's fingers suddenly clutched the crystal in
her lap with a force that left the thin tips of them white and
bloodless. "You did. A difference that in my maddest dreams I could
never have hoped for. You brought with you the curse of disaster from
which there was no escape for those to whom you belonged.

"I can see it all now," she went on exultingly. "I can see it as I saw
it then, every detail of it. Your father's gambling had brought him
down to something like want. A week before you were born his home was
sold up, and he and your mother took shelter in a tiny three-roomed
apartment for which they had no money to pay the rent. In desperation
he came to _me_--to _me_ for help. And I gave it him. The day before
you were born I gave him the money for the expenses of your birth and
to tide him over for three months. It was almost all I had in the
world." Again came that mirthless laugh. Then she hurried on. "But the
temptation was too much for Charles Stanmore, gambler that he was. He
suddenly found himself with money in his pocket and hope in his
foolish soul. There was a big wheat operation going on at the moment,
and every penny of the money, along with all the credit he could
procure, he plunged into it."

"And lost it all?" Joan whispered.

The other shook her head.

"No. The influence of your strange fate was at work. On the day that
you saw light Charles Stanmore was a comparatively rich man. And your
mother--was dead."

Joan breathed a deep sigh.

"Yes, wheat went up by leaps and bounds, and your father was delirious
with joy. He stood over you--I can see him now--and talked at you in
his foolish, extravagant way. 'You're the brightest, happiest,
luckiest little hoodlam that ever came into the world,' he cried. 'And
your name is "Golden," my little Golden Woman, for if ever there was
a golden kiddie in the world you are she. Gold? Why, you've showered
it on me. Luck? Why, I verily believe if you'd been around you'd
have brought l