teen years of age."

Alora turned away and going to the front window, looked through its
stained and unwashed panes into the gloomy street below. The sight
emphasized her isolation from the world. Her imprisonment was becoming
unbearable. After all, she reflected, in reckless mood, what did so
small a share of her prospective fortune weigh against her present
comfort--and health--and happiness?

Janet was stealthily watching her.

"Should you decide to sign the paper," said the nurse, "you must make
up your mind not to raise a row when pay-day comes. The money will come
out of your income, and instead of investing it in more bonds, you will
have invested it in your liberty. You won't be inconvenienced in the
slightest degree. On the other hand, this money will mean everything to
_me_--a modest competence for my old age and relief from the drudgery
of working. I've had a hard life, my girl, for nursing is mere slavery
to the whims of sick people. Consider, also, that for six years Jason
Jones squandered all my savings in trying to paint pictures that were
not worth the canvas he ruined. If I had that money now I wouldn't need
to descend to this disgraceful mode of recouping my bank account; but,
under the circumstances, don't you think I am justly entitled to some
of the Jones money?"

"You're going to get a lot from my father."

"True; but that is for his indebtedness, while this amount is for your
freedom. A scrape of the pen and you secure liberty, fresh air and the
privilege of rejoining your friends, who are probably getting anxious
about you. If you are the sensible girl I take you to be, you won't
hesitate."

Alora knew the woman was pleading her own case, but the arguments
appealed to her. She was weak and nervous and her longing for liberty
outweighed her natural judgment.

"I suppose I'm a fool, but----"

Slowly she approached the table where the written promissory note still
lay. Janet had placed a pen and inkstand beside it.

CHAPTER XXIII
MARY LOUISE HAS AN INTUITION

"I wish, Josie," said Mary Louise dolefully, "you'd let me help in this
search for Alora."

"I'd be glad to, dear, if I could think of a single thing you can do,"
replied her friend. "Just now I'm on the most tedious task imaginable--
visiting the army of cab-drivers--horse and taxi--here in Chicago and
trying to find the one who carried a woman and a girl away from the
Blackington at six o'clock that eventful Tuesday morning