After the older woman had departed, Bab remained in a brown study. Had she been wise in accepting Mrs. Wilson’s offer? Would it have been better after all to ask Ruth for the loan of the money? Bab sighed heavily. She had been so happy and so interested in Washington, and now Mollie’s ill-advised purchase had changed everything. For a moment Barbara felt a little resentment toward Mollie, then she shook off the feeling as unworthy. Mollie had experienced bitter remorse for her folly, and Bab knew that her little sister had learned a lesson she would never forget. As for the money, it should be paid back at the earliest opportunity.

Barbara turned and went slowly upstairs to prepare for luncheon. She found Mollie sitting by the window in their room. Her pretty mouth drooped at the corners and her eyes were red with weeping.

“Cheer up, Molliekins!” exclaimed Bab. “I’ve found a way out of the difficulty.”

“Oh, Bab,” said Mollie in a shamed voice. “Did you have to tell Ruth?”

“No, dear,” responded Bab. “Ruth knows nothing about it. Bathe your face at once. It is almost time to go down to luncheon, and your eyes are awfully red. While you are fixing up I’ll tell you about it.”

“Oh, Bab!” Mollie said contritely when her sister had finished her account of what had happened in the study. “You’re the best sister a girl ever had. I don’t believe I’ll ever be so silly about my clothes again. This has cured me. I’m so sorry.”

“Of course you are, little Sister,” soothed Bab. “Don’t say another word. Here comes Ruth and Grace.”

The two girls entered the room at that moment and a little later the four descended to luncheon.

“I am going to do some shopping this afternoon,” announced Ruth. “Would you girls like to do the stores with me?”

“I’ll go,” replied Grace. “I want to buy a pair of white gloves and I need a number of small things.”

“I have an engagement this afternoon,” said Harriet enigmatically. “I must ask you to excuse me, Ruth.”

“Certainly, Harriet,” returned Ruth. “How about you and Mollie, Bab?”

“Mollie can go with you,” answered Bab, coloring slightly. “But would you be disappointed if I do not go? I have something else that I am obliged to see to this afternoon.”

“Of course, I’d love to have you with me, Bab, but you know your own business best.”

Suspecting that Bab wished to spend the afternoon in going over her own and Mollie’s rather limited wardrobe, Ruth made no attempt to persuade Bab to make one of the shopping party, and when a little later A. Bubble carried the three girls away, she went directly upstairs to prepare for her call on Mrs. Wilson. It was a beautiful afternoon, and Bab decided that she would walk to her destination. As she swung along through the crisp December air the feeling of depression that had clung to her ever since Mollie had made her tearful confession vanished, and Bab became almost cheerful. She would save every penny, she reflected hopefully, and when she and Mollie received their next month’s pocket money, she would send that to Mrs. Wilson. It would take some time to pay back the fifty dollars, but Mrs. Wilson had assured her that she could return it at her own convenience. Bab felt that her vague distrust of this whole-souled, generous woman had been groundless, and in her impulsive, girlish fashion she was ready to do everything in her power to make amends for even doubting this fascinating stranger who had so nobly come to her rescue.

By following carefully the directions given her by Mrs. Wilson for finding her house, Bab arrived at her destination with very little confusion. She looked at her watch as she ascended the steps and saw that it was just half past four o’clock. “I’m on time at any rate,” she murmured as she rang the bell.

“Is Mrs. Wilson here?” she inquired of the maid who answered the bell.

“Come this way, please,” said the maid, and Bab followed her across the square hall and through a door hung with heavy portieres. She found herself in what appeared to be half library, half living room, and seemed especially designed for comfort. A bright fire burned in the open fire place at one side of the room, and before the fire stood a young man, who turned abruptly as Bab entered.

“How do you do, Miss Thurston,” said Peter Dillon, coming forward and taking her hand.

“Why ­I thought ­” stammered Barbara, a look of keen disappointment leaping into her brown eyes, “that Mrs. Wilson ­was ­”

“To be here,” finished Peter Dillon, smiling almost tantalizingly at her evident embarrassment. “So she was, but she received a telephone message half an hour ago and was obliged to go out for a little while. I happened to be here when the message came and she told me that she expected you to call at half past four o’clock and asked me if I would wait and receive you. She left a note for you in my care. Here it is.”

Peter Dillon handed Bab an envelope addressed to “Miss Barbara Thurston,” looking at her searchingly as he did so. Bab colored hotly under his almost impertinent scrutiny as she reached out her hand for the envelope. She had an uncomfortable feeling at that moment that perhaps Peter Dillon knew as much about the contents of the envelope as she did.

“Thank you, Mr. Dillon,” she said in a low voice. “I think I won’t wait for Mrs. Wilson. Please tell her that I thank her and that I’ll write.”

“Very well,” replied the young man. “I will deliver your message.” He held the heavy portieres back for Bab as she stepped into the hall and accompanied her to the vestibule door. “Good-bye, Miss Thurston,” he said with a peculiar, meaning flash of his blue eyes that completed Bab’s discomfiture. “I shall hope to see you in a day or two.”

Bab hurried down the steps and into the street. The shadows were beginning to fall and in another hour it would be dark. When she reached the corner she looked about her in bewilderment, then with a little impatient exclamation she wheeled and retraced her steps. She had been going in the wrong direction. She had passed Mrs. Wilson’s house, when a murmur of familiar voices caused her to start and look back at it in amazement. Stepping off the walk and behind the trunk of a great tree, Barbara stared from her place of concealment, hardly able to believe the evidence of her own eyes. Peter Dillon was standing just outside the vestibule door, his hat in his hand and just inside stood Mrs. Wilson. The two were deep in conversation and Bab heard the young man’s musical laugh ring out as though something had greatly amused him. Filled with a sickening apprehension that she was the cause of his laughter, Bab stepped from behind the tree unobserved by the two on the step above and walked on down the street assailed by the disquieting suspicion that Mrs. Wilson had had a motive far from disinterested in lending her the fifty dollars. She glanced down at the envelope in her hand. She felt positive that it contained the money, and her woman’s intuition told her that Peter Dillon’s presence in the house had not been a matter of chance. She experienced a strong desire to run back to the house and return the envelope unopened, and at the same time ask Mrs. Wilson why Peter had untruthfully declared that she was not at home. Bab paused irresolutely. Then a vision of Mollie’s tearful face rose before her, and squaring her shoulders, she marched along through the gathering twilight, determined to use the borrowed money to pay Mollie’s debt and face the consequences whatever they might be.

When Bab reached home she found that Harriet had come in and gone to her room, while the other girls had not yet returned. Barbara was glad that no one had discovered her absence, and divesting herself of her hat and coat she hurried up to her room. Closing and locking the door, she sat down and tore open the envelope and with hands that trembled, drew out a folded paper. Inside the folded paper was a crisp fifty dollar bill. Mrs. Wilson had kept her word.

While she sat fingering the bill, she heard voices downstairs and a moment later Mollie tried the door, then knocked. Bab rose and unlocked the door for her sister.

“Did you get it, Bab?” asked Mollie eagerly, a deep flush rising to her face.

“Yes, Molliekins, here it is,” answered Barbara quietly, holding up the money. “To-morrow you and I will go to Madame Louise and pay the bill.”

“Oh, Bab,” said Mollie, her lips quivering. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been so much trouble, but I’ll save every cent of my pocket money and pay Mrs. Wilson as soon as I can. It was so good of her to lend us the money wasn’t it?”

Barbara merely nodded. Her early gratitude toward Mrs. Wilson had vanished, in spite of her efforts to believe in Mrs. Wilson, her first feeling of distrust had returned. She thought gloomily, as she listened to Mollie’s praise of Mrs. Wilson’s generosity, that perhaps after all it would have been better to pay a visit to the pawn broker.