it's been ages," quavered Mary Raymond. Then the two
became locked in a tempestuous embrace.

"Here, here, where do I come in?" asked an injured voice, as the two
young women continued to croon over each other, all else forgotten.

Marjorie gently disengaged herself from Mary's detaining arms and turned
to give her hand to Mr. Raymond.

"I'm so glad to see you," she said fervently. "Mother is waiting in our
car, just the other side of the station. But first, let me introduce my
friend, Constance Stevens. Why, where is she? I thought she was right
behind me. Oh, here she comes. Hurry up, Connie!"

Constance approached rather shyly. In spite of the fact that the old
days of poverty and heartache lay behind her like a bad dream, she was
still curiously reserved and diffident in the presence of strangers. The
decision of her aunt, Miss Susan Allison, to take up her abode in
Sanford in order that Constance might finish her high school course with
Marjorie had brought many changes into the life of the once friendless
girl. Miss Allison had purchased a handsome property on the outskirts of
Sanford, and, after much persuasion, had, with one exception, induced
the occupants of the little gray house to share it with her. Soon
afterward Mr. Stevens, Constance's foster-father, whose name she still
bore and refused to change, had accepted a position as first violin in a
symphony orchestra and had gone to fulfill his destiny in the world of
music which he loved. Uncle John Roland and little Charlie, once puny
and crippled, but now strong and rosy, had, with Constance, come into
the lonely old woman's household at a time when she most needed them,
and, in her contrition for the lost years of happiness which she had so
stubbornly thrust aside, she was in a fair way to spoil her little flock
by too much petting.

The fact that from a mere nobody Constance Stevens had become the social
equal of Sanford's most exclusive contingent did not impress the girl in
the least. Naturally humble and self-effacing, she had no ambition to
shine socially. Her one aim was to become a great singer, and it was
understood between herself and her aunt that when she was graduated from
high school she was to enter a conservatory of music and study voice
culture under the best masters.

It seemed to Constance that she now had everything in the world that she
could possibly hope for or desire, but of the great good which had come
to her in one short year