first."

She opened her door, and crossed the hall to the drawing-room, where her
aunt had told her the family usually breakfasted, in preference to going
downstairs to the restaurant, but somewhat to her surprise, she found
the room just as she had left it on the previous evening, and the whole
apartment seemed very quiet. She went to one of the windows and looked
out.

"What a lot of people there are in the street," she remarked
reflectively, "and they all seem in such a hurry. I wonder where they
are going. How pretty the park is. Oh, how I should love a gallop on
Roland before breakfast."

The door behind her opened, and a woman with a duster in her hand came
in. She looked very much surprised at finding the room occupied.

"Good morning," said Marjorie, with her friendly smile; "it's a lovely
day, isn't it?"

"It's very pleasant," returned the chambermaid, still looking surprised.
"You are up early, Miss," she added politely.

"Am I?" said Marjorie, surprised in her turn. "I didn't know I was. At
what time do my aunt and uncle generally have breakfast?"

"Never before half-past eight, and sometimes later. Mrs. Carleton
generally has her breakfast in bed, but Mr. Carleton and the young lady
have theirs in here."

"Half-past eight," repeated Marjorie in dismay, "and it's only a little
after seven now. I should say I was early."

The maid smiled, and began dusting the ornaments without making any
further remarks. She did not appear to be a very communicative person,
and Marjorie decided that she might as well go back to her room, and
write the letter to her mother, which could now be a much longer one
than she had at first intended. But on the way she suddenly changed her
mind.

"I can write later just as well," she decided, "and it really is much
too beautiful to stay indoors. I'll go and have a walk in that lovely
park. I shall feel much more like breakfast when I've had some fresh air
and exercise."

Marjorie had not the least idea that she was doing anything unusual as
she ran lightly down the broad marble stairs five minutes later, and
stepped out through the open street door into the fresh morning air. The
Carleton's apartment was on the fifth floor, but Marjorie scorned to use
the lift, which had struck her the evening before, as a very wonderful
but unnecessary invention.

Several people in the hall looked at her curiously, and a man in brass
buttons asked her if he should call a cab.

"Oh, n