Essentials of MATLAB

Programming 3rd Edition

Chapman
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4. Branching Statements and Program Design

4.1 (a) false (0) (b) false (0) (c) The first term (17 - pi < 15) is true (1), and the second term (pi
< 3) is false (0), so the xor function is true (1). (d) The true is converted to 1, and the false is
converted to 0, so the result of the expression true > false is true (1). (e) The expression (35
/ 17) is 2.0588. Therefore, the expression ~(35 / 17) is false (0), and the expression ~~(35
/ 17) is true (1). Since 1 ≠ 2.0588, the overall expression is false (0). (f) false (0) (g) true (1)

4.2 The if structure is:

% Convert to radians
theta_rad = theta * pi / 180;

% Calculate tangent
if abs(cos(theta_rad)) > 1E-20
tan = sin(theta_rad) / cos(theta_rad)
else
disp('Error: cos(theta) too small');
end

4.3 These statements will execute, but they will not produce the result that the programmer wanted. An
if/elseif/else structure will take the first valid branch, and ignore all others. Thus, if the
temperature is 105, the statement will display the message 'Temperature normal' instead of
the desired message. This problem can be fixed by restructuring the order of the statements. In
addition, the structure would not print out a message if the temperature were exactly 97.5. A
corrected version of the statements is shown below.

if temp < 97.5

disp('Temperature below normal');
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 elseif temp > 103.0
disp('Temperature dangerously high');
elseif temp > 99.5
disp('Temperature slightly high');
elseif temp >= 97.5
disp('Temperature normal');
end

4.4 One possible mail program is shown below:

% Script file: mail.m

%
% Purpose:
% To calculate the cost of mail a parcel.
%
% Record of revisions:
% Date Programmer Description of change
% ==== ========== =====================
% 03/18/15 S. J. Chapman Original code
%
% Define variables:

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 % cost -- cost in dollars
% weight -- Weight of package (lbs)

% Prompt the user for the input power.

weight = input('Enter weight of parcel, in lbs: ');

% Calculate cost
if weight > 100

% Not mailable
disp('Packages heavier than 100 pounds cannot be mailed!');

else

if weight <= 2
cost = 15;
else
cost = 15 + (weight-2) * 5.00;
end

% Apply penalty
if weight > 70
cost = cost + 15;
end

% Display weight
fprintf('Cost = $%.2f\n',cost);

end

When this program is executed, the results are:

» mail
Enter weight of parcel, in lbs: 1
Cost = $15.00
» mail
Enter weight of parcel, in lbs: 10
Cost = $55.00
» mail
Enter weight of parcel, in lbs: 80
Cost = $420.00
» mail
Enter weight of parcel, in lbs: 120
Packages heavier than 100 pounds cannot be mailed!

4.5 A version of funxy that uses nested if structures is shown below:

% Script file: funxy.m

%
% Purpose:
% This program solves the function f(x,y) for a
% user-specified x and y, where f(x,y) is defined as:
% _

60
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 % |
% | x + y x >= 0 and y >= 0
% | x + y**2 x >= 0 and y < 0
% f(x,y) = | x**2 + y x < 0 and y >= 0
% | x**2 + y**2 x < 0 and y < 0
% |_
%
% Record of revisions:
% Date Programmer Description of change
% ==== ========== =====================
% 01/03/14 S. J. Chapman Original code
% 1. 03/18/15 S. J. Chapman Modified for nested ifs
%
% Define variables:
% x -- First independent variable
% y -- Second independent variable
% fun -- Resulting function

% Prompt the user for the values x and y

x = input ('Enter the x coefficient: ');
y = input ('Enter the y coefficient: ');

% Calculate the function f(x,y) based upon

% the signs of x and y.
if x >= 0
if y >= 0
fun = x + y;
else
fun = x + x^2;
end
else
if y >= 0
fun = x^2 + y;
else
fun = x^2 + y^2;
end
end

% Write the value of the function.

disp (['The value of the function is ' num2str(fun)]);

4.6 A MATLAB program to evaluate the function y ( x ) = ln  1  is shown below:

 
1− x 
% Script file: eval_fn.m
%
% Purpose:
% This program evaluates a function, first checking
% to ensure that the input argument is legal.
%
% Record of revisions:
% Date Programmer Description of change
% ==== ========== =====================
% 03/18/15 S. J. Chapman Original code

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 %
% Define variables:
% x -- First independent variable
% fun -- Resulting function

% Prompt the user for the value x

x = input ('Enter x: ');

% Calculate the function

if x < 1
fun = log( 1 / (1-x) );
disp(['log( 1 / (1-x) ) = ' num2str(fun)]);
else
disp('x must be < 1!');
end

When this program is executed, the results are:

» eval_fn
Enter x: 2
x must be < 1!
» eval_fn
Enter x: 0
log( 1 / (1-x) ) = 0
» eval_fn
Enter x: -1
log( 1 / (1-x) ) = -0.69315

4.7 A program to convert a day name to a day number using a switch construct is shown below:

% Script file: day_of_week.m

%
% Purpose:
% To convert a string containing a day of week into the
% corresponding number.
%
% Record of revisions:
% Date Programmer Description of change
% ==== ========== =====================
% 03/18/15 S. J. Chapman Original code
%
% Define variables:
% day -- Day of week (string)
% day_no -- Number of day

% Get name of day

day = input('Enter name of day: ','s');

% Convert to number
switch (day)
case {'Sunday'},
day_no = 1;
case {'Monday'},

62
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Another document from Scribd.com that is
random and unrelated content:
 CHAPTER XIV
THE PHILANDERER
“S it’s off with the old love?”
“My dear Kathryn, it was never on,” Barnard looked squarely at the
pretty nurse facing him, a faint trace of distress visible in his polished
manner. “When I called to see my aunt, Mrs. Lawrence, I always showed
you the civility and attention which I accord to any woman; that you
chose to attach a deeper meaning——” he shrugged his shoulders. “I
very deeply regret the—misunderstanding.”
Kathryn Allen’s gaze shifted from his face to the desk, and she saw
the ornaments dimly through blinding tears.
“You repudiate——?” she asked huskily.
“Everything you claim—yes.”
“Then your presents, your photograph....”
“Meant nothing,” with smiling effrontery, “except pour passer le
temps.”
In the stillness the click, click of a typewriter in the adjoining office
was distinctly audible. Barnard, with an impatient frown at the wall
dock, turned back to the silent woman. He abhorred a scene, and
Representative J. Calhoun-Cooper had an engagement with him shortly;
it would never do for him to find Kathryn Allen in that office. The pause
lengthened, then the woman rose shakily to her feet, and meeting
Barnard’s look of solicitude, a bitter laugh broke from her.
“You have shown me a new side,” she said, controlling herself with
difficulty. “You are not usually neglectful of your own interests,
Chichester; hadn’t you better cultivate your memory?” and before he
could answer, she slipped from the room and was gone.
Reaching the sidewalk Kathryn walked aimlessly up F Street until
her wandering attention was caught by a tall clock in front of a jeweler’s
shop, whose hands registered three o’clock, and she paused instantly.
 “Mercy,” she muttered. “I’ve forgotten Joe!” and turning about she
made her way to Harvey’s restaurant. Joe Calhoun-Cooper, lurking in the
doorway, watched her approach with eagerness.
“At last!” he exclaimed. “I thought you had forgotten to come.”
“Not a bit of it,” following him to the ladies’ dining-room. “Mrs.
Wallace was not so well, and I was detained. Nurses can’t be choosers,
you know.”
“Why don’t you give up this drudgery?” asked Joe heatedly. “Marry
me, my darling——” sinking his voice.
“Marry you?” repeated Kathryn drearily, then her face brightened
into a quick warm smile. “Well, why not?”
“Do you mean it?” Joe was on his feet, his eyes alight.
“Sit down, you foolish boy,” and Joe, a trifle abashed by the waiter’s
stare, sank down into his seat.
“What will you have, Kathryn?” he inquired, taking up the menu
card.
“Some hot roasted oysters and plenty of pepperine sauce; no, no
wine,” as he turned to the wine list. “You know I don’t approve of that,
Joe.”
“Just a cocktail,” he pleaded. “It’s bitter cold outside.” But Kathryn
shook her head.
“Don’t tempt me, Joe;” she settled back in her seat and looked about
the restaurant. At that hour the room was empty and she heaved a sigh of
relief; she was not anxious to encounter any friend who might chance to
come in. She shivered slightly, half overcome by a tormenting memory.
“I will take some coffee,” she added hastily.
Joe finished giving his order, and then turned his attention fully on
his companion. She looked extremely pretty and young in her
conventional tailored-suit and stylish hat under which her red hair curled
tantalizingly. Her good looks and engaging manner had captivated Joe
when she attended him at Garfield Hospital the year before, he having
preceded his family to Washington, and developed typhoid fever soon
after his arrival.
“Why did you telephone that you had to see me, Joe?” asked
Kathryn, breaking the silence.
 “It’s nearly a week since our last walk together,” he answered
moodily. “I began to think you were avoiding me.”
“Nonsense; I told you I’ve been extra busy....”
“But a nurse always has her regular hours off,” he broke in.
“During which I’ve been making up lost sleep,” she retorted. “Joe,
dear, don’t quarrel with me——” her eyes filled with tears. “I can’t bear
it.”
“My dearest,” he patted the slender hand resting on the table with
tender fingers. “I’ll eat dirt, sooner than make you unhappy.”
“Try the oysters, instead,” she advised, with a half hysterical laugh,
as the waiter placed the tempting dishes before them. The presence of the
waiter, who stood behind Joe’s chair shucking the roasted oysters in
rapid succession, prevented further private conversation, to Joe’s great
annoyance. He wanted Kathryn to himself, and her half-bantering, half-
tender manner but added fuel to the flame of his passion.
“Let’s get out of here,” he suggested, rising and pushing back his
chair. While playing with her hot coffee and oysters, of which she was
usually inordinately fond, Kathryn had done some rapid thinking, and
having decided on her course of action, she was quite willing to leave,
and in a few minutes more they were strolling up Pennsylvania Avenue.
“What time do you have to return?” inquired Joe, stopping before the
Raleigh.
“Not until six o’clock.”
“Good!” Joe beckoned to one of the hackmen standing in front of the
hotel, and as the brougham drew up before them, he wrenched open the
door and before Kathryn had quite decided, she was half pushed into the
vehicle. “Go to the Mall,” shouted Joe, springing in after her.
“Well, upon my word!” she ejaculated, considerably startled. “Joe—
Joe—what’s come over you?”
Joe did not answer the question directly, but the passion in his eyes
brought a hot wave of color to her cheeks; the carriage was rapidly
traversing an unfrequented street, and he was not to be denied. His arms
crept around her, and despite her vehement protests, he rained kisses
upon her lips until the fire consuming him communicated itself to her,
and she gave back kiss for kiss with an ardor which matched his own.
 “Joe, you must behave!” she stammered, withdrawing as far from
him as the narrow confines of the carriage permitted. “Suppose we are
seen? What would your family say?”
“They will have to know some time,” he protested. “Beside, we are
not likely to meet any of our friends in this part of the town.”
“I am not so sure of that,” she glanced uneasily out of the window.
“We must be getting back, Joe; tell the driver to go up side streets until
he reaches Seventeenth and S Streets.”
“Will you marry me?” demanded Joe, ignoring her request. “Will
you, my darling?”
“I’ll give you my answer——”
“Yes?” eagerly, as she paused.
“When we reach Seventeenth and S Streets,” and her alluring smile
set his pulses racing. Opening the door he gave his directions to the
driver, then settled back beside her.
“Why do you want to tantalize me?” he asked reproachfully.
“It’s good for you,” shrugging her shoulders. “You are spoiled at
home. By the way, do you propose telling your family of our engagement
—providing I accept you?” archly.
“In my own good time,” sulkily. “If they know too soon....”
“They’ll send you away from my baleful influence.” A mocking
smile lighted her eyes and lips. Joe winced, the remark was too near the
truth to be pleasant.
“It’s no thanks to your friend, Mrs. Hemmingway, that father doesn’t
know now,” he grumbled.
“What do you mean?” in startled surprise.
“I found a letter from her in father’s mail last Monday,” he pulled out
a much soiled envelope. “Your letters used to come under cover of her
address, so I recognized her writing, and guessing something devilish
was up, hooked it before father came home.”
“I see,” said Kathryn slowly. “And what did my amiable landlady say
in her letter to your father?”
 “I don’t know,” handing her the unopened envelope. “I waited to give
it to you to read; I would have told you of it sooner, but you would not
see me.”
“Could not see you,” she corrected gently; then without further
words opened and read the letter. A sharp intake of her breath attracted
Joe’s attention, and he turned from the window in time to see her tearing
the letter into infinitesimal pieces, her face white with fury.
“The cat!” she exclaimed. “The vile, treacherous cat! And after I’ve
been so good to her. Thank heaven you caught the letter, Joe; it was
clever of you, my dearest.”
“Luck was with me,” admitted Joe frankly, pleased, however, at the
implied compliment. “I never trusted Mrs. Hemmingway; you remember
I warned you against her.”
“Yes, yes, so you did. Oh, Joe, the things she said about you in this
letter!” opening the carriage door and tossing out the scraps of paper.
“They make my blood boil.”
“My blessed darling,” as she snuggled up against his shoulder, “if I
only had enough money, I’d carry you off tonight.”
“Remember I haven’t yet given you my answer,” teasingly.
“I’d marry you without it,” sturdily. “Lord! if I only had the luck of
some people—Chichester Barnard, for instance.”
Kathryn’s body stiffened and every drop of blood deserted her face.
“What about Chichester Barnard?” she asked in barely more than a
whisper.
“Didn’t you read in this morning’s paper that Mrs. Lawrence’s will
had been offered for probate, and that she bequeathed him a hundred
thousand dollars?”
“I had no chance to look at the papers,” she answered dully.
Immersed in his own prospective happiness he failed to observe the
anguish which dimmed her eyes. Suddenly she roused herself. “So Mr.
Barnard is a wealthy man; well, merit usually wins in the end.” The
covert sneer was lost on her companion.
“Barnard’s a good chap,” he said tolerantly. “He deserves his luck.”
“I presume now he will marry Marjorie Langdon.”
 “Marry Marjorie Langdon?” Joe’s hearty burst of laughter covered
the quiver in Kathryn’s voice. “Lord bless you, he’s trying for higher
game.”
“Who do you mean?” the question shot from her.
“Janet Fordyce; and do you know,” lowering his voice confidentially,
“Christmas Eve I got rather fuddled and was such a fool as to warn
Barnard not to marry into that family.”
“Were you thanked for your pains?” and the sneer in her downcast
eyes was not pleasant.
“Hardly; in fact, Barnard threatened to wring my neck if I ever
alluded to the Fordyce peculiarities in public.”
“Tell me some other time,” she coaxed. “I think, however, that Mr.
Barnard is to be congratulated if he marries any woman but Marjorie
Langdon.”
“I rather like Marjorie.”
“Do you?” she laughed mirthlessly. “Well, I hate her.” There was no
mistaking her envenomed tone, and Joe’s sleepy eyes opened to twice
their usual size.
“Why?” in profound astonishment.
“Because of the humiliation I have suffered at her hands; she never
lost an opportunity ‘to put me in my place’ when we were both at the
Lawrences’, she as secretary and I as nurse.”
“You surprise me; but come to think of it, Pauline holds about the
same view of Miss Langdon that you do; thinks she’s too supercilious for
a paid companion.”
“Is that so? Then your sister and I agree already.”
“A happy omen for the future,” exclaimed Joe, then his face
darkened. “If Marjorie Langdon has been nasty to you, my darling, I’ll
cut her acquaintance.”
The look she gave him was ample reward. “Ah, Joe,” she said, a
trifle sadly, “I fear your loyalty will be taxed to the breaking point if you
marry a poor, nameless nobody like me.”
“Never!” he vowed with lover-like ardor. “And, dearest, within a few
years, by the terms of my grandfather’s will, I shall inherit eight
thousand a year.”
“What!” Her surprise was genuine; Joe had never before spoken of
his prospective inheritance.
“I didn’t know about it myself until Christmas,” went on Joe. “We
can be married tomorrow if you say so; I’ll get mother to advance me
some money, and father will come across when he once meets you.”
“And your sister?”
“Oh, Pauline can go hang. Who cares for her opinion?”
contemptuously.
“I do, for one,” calmly meeting his perplexed stare. “I most earnestly
desire her friendship.”
“You don’t know Pauline,” dryly, remembering his treatment at his
sister’s hands. “I don’t think she will add to our joy of living.”
“Perhaps not, but she may be useful to me,” quietly. “Oh, Joe, you
don’t know what it means to a bride to sever her husband from his
family. Please God, you’ll never have that to reproach me with.”
“I was only thinking of you, dearest,” put in Joe, much touched.
“Between you and me, Pauline is an awful tartar.” At that moment their
carriage turned the corner into S Street and drew up at the curb.
“Your answer, dearest?” Joe’s assurance had departed, and the hand
he laid on Kathryn shook. “Will you marry me?”
“Yes,” he had to bend down to catch the whispered word.
“Soon?” he urged, his voice triumphant with joy.
“Yes,” and the kindly darkness hid the kiss with which they sealed
their betrothal.
 CHAPTER XV
IN SHEEP’S CLOTHING
K A tore open the note with impatient fingers.
M D , [she read],
Pauline tells me Janet Fordyce and Chichester Barnard
frequently take tea at the Brown Tea Pot. I don’t know
why you asked me to find out, but, sweetheart, your word
is law to your devoted
J .
P. S. How the hours drag! I only live when with you.
Joe might have spared himself the postscript. Kathryn did not even
trouble to read it. Crumpling the note into a small ball she tossed it into
the scrap basket and rising, consulted her alarm clock. The hands on the
dial pointed to a quarter past three; she could go over to the hospital and
register and still have ample time to enjoy a cup of tea at the Brown Tea
Pot. Her valise was already packed preparatory to leaving her present
case whenever her employer, a hypochondriac, decided she could
dispense with her services. She had gone to her immediately after the
death of Mrs. Lawrence, but the place did not suit. She did not care to
nurse crotchety patients.
It was a little before five o’clock when she entered the Brown Tea
Pot, and she found the cozy tea-room partly empty. To her delight she
secured a table to herself near a large screen standing by the pantry door,
and from that vantage point she commanded a fine view of the occupants
of the room without herself being conspicuous. She had plenty of time to
study her surroundings and admire the effect of the softly shaded electric
lights which cast a becoming, rosy glow over the scene, before the two
people for whom she was waiting, made their appearance.
It was the first glimpse Kathryn had had of Janet, and she watched
her with jealous, angry eyes. She took in the becoming, chic street
costume Janet was wearing, with grudging admiration. Chichester
Barnard always had excellent taste in women. Kathryn had overheard
Admiral Lawrence tell his wife that their clergyman, at his request,
reproved Barnard for his fast life, and had asked him what he would do if
confronted at the Judgment Seat by the women he had flirted with.
“I shouldn’t be ashamed of one of them,” Barnard had retorted.
Janet, barely glancing about her, selected a table across the room
from where Kathryn Allen sat, and while out of ear-shot, the pretty nurse
could observe them without appearing to do so. By the time Barnard had
finished giving his order to their waitress, the people sitting nearest them
had completed their tea and departed. Janet bit her lip with vexation; she
had chosen that particular table because it had near neighbors, and above
all things she wished to avoid anything like a private tête-à-tête with
Barnard. Usually the Brown Tea Pot was crowded, and conversation had
to be of the most trivial and impersonal character on account of the
danger of being overheard. She had accepted Barnard’s invitation to have
tea with him against her better judgment.
Barnard made no secret of his satisfaction at their isolated position.
He never troubled to turn and glance about the room, and Kathryn
Allen’s presence went unnoticed.
“Are you sure you would rather have hot chocolate than tea, Janet?”
he inquired, with gentle solicitude.
“Quite sure. Mother says too much tea drinking is responsible for my
nervous irritability.”
“Your mother is too harsh a critic,” he commented. “I detect no
irritability on your part, only——” he paused thoughtfully.
“Yes?” she prompted, looking away from him.
“An adorable reserve,” ardently. “Why do you not let me see more of
you?”
“I have already explained the reason, Chichester.”
“Your social duties?” He shrugged his shoulders disdainfully. “Bah!
why consider such empty trifles.”
“They are not trifles, but a treadmill,” she retorted warmly. “But,
Chichester, I don’t believe mother and Marjorie would approve of my
meeting you so often alone, and I hate to do anything underhand.”
“You are the soul of honor.” His look caressed her, and she shivered
involuntarily. “Then why not let me call every day at your house?”
 “Duncan doesn’t like you,” she admitted faintly. “And he has
prejudiced mother——” in her desire to avoid Barnard’s glance, she
missed seeing the tawney gleam which for a second marred the beauty of
his heavily lashed dark eyes.
“I can guess the reason for your brother’s dislike,” he admitted
grimly. “Perhaps I can remove the cause. His interest in Miss Langdon
appears mutual. Hadn’t you better warn your mother to watch those
two?”
“What do you mean?” She raised startled eyes to his.
“How would you like Miss Langdon as a sister-in-law?”
Janet sat in dumfounded silence. Even the arrival of their waitress
with the chocolate pot, whipped cream, and hot toasted English muffins
did not arouse her. Had Barnard supplied her with the key to Duncan’s
altered demeanor and Marjorie’s shy, distraite manner? Would her
mother accept Marjorie as a daughter-in-law without opposition? Duncan
was her idol, and Janet knew she had always planned a most ambitious
future for him.
“Then the idea doesn’t appeal to you?” questioned Barnard as the
waitress retired. “Well, don’t worry; Marjorie has other suitors.”
“I am given to understand that you are one of them.”
“By some kind friend, I suppose?” But Barnard’s laugh was not as
sincere and hearty as he tried to make it. “Did Pauline Calhoun-Cooper
also mention that Tom Nichols is one of Marjorie’s suitors?” The spoon
Janet held rattled against the side of her cup. “Ah, I thought not,” added
Barnard, smiling quietly to himself. “Did the gallant captain never
confide to you his admiration for his beautiful cousin?”
But Janet was game, notwithstanding her secret anguish. Barnard had
indeed opened her eyes, but not in the way he had intended. Quickly she
rallied her wits to her aid; she must not let her keen-eyed companion
realize the new influence which was dominating her. Ah, love was two-
edged; too late, she had divined the gold from the dross.
“Captain Nichols has made no secret of his affection for Marjorie,”
she retorted coolly. “Why do you seek to prejudice me against him?”
“Because I do not approve of your friendship.”
“Nonsense; it’s purely platonic.”
 “There is no such thing between a man and a maid.” Barnard’s tone
stirred Janet’s hot anger, but she controlled herself admirably. “You show
your youth by advocating such views.”
“Do you mean to be insulting?”
“Put such an idea instantly out of your mind.” There was stern
command in his eyes and voice, and Janet shrank back, frightened by the
storm she had provoked. “I should never think of insulting you, I love
you too deeply,” his tones vibrated with feeling. “I respect you too highly
—but I am jealous, bitterly jealous. I, and I alone, must rule your heart
and mind. ‘Thou shalt have no other god but me’!”
“Don’t blaspheme!” She cringed back in her chair, and covered her
ears with her shaking fingers. “Chichester, Chichester, I have given you
no cause for jealousy.”
“Perhaps not intentionally,” he admitted, more quietly. “But for my
comfort, you see too much of Tom Nichols.”
“You are entirely mistaken. I haven’t seen him for some time.”
“How about your motor ride with him on Christmas Day?” She
colored in spite of herself.
“How did you hear of it?” she demanded.
“News travels fast when a man boasts....”
“I don’t believe it,” she broke in vehemently. “Tom Nichols isn’t that
sort. He would keep his word to me to say nothing about it.”
“Ah, then your intimacy has reached the stage of mutual secrets!”
Barnard’s brow darkened. “Now, once for all this platonic friendship,”
with biting sarcasm, “must stop. As your fiancé, I forbid you to have
anything further to do with him.”
“And suppose I refuse?” Janet drew her furs about her, and flung
back her head defiantly. Her blood was up.
“You will do nothing so foolish.”
“I shall, too.” Janet’s eyes blazed back into his. “And I want you to
understand that our engagement is broken.”
Barnard’s smile was his only answer as he contemplated her, and
despite the warmth of the room and her furs, Janet felt a chill strike to
her heart, and the pupils of her eyes distended with fear as Barnard bent
toward her across the table.
“Pauline Calhoun-Cooper has missed her bracelet,” he said quietly.
Janet crimsoned; then turned deathly pale. Fearing she would faint,
Barnard raised his tea-spoon and struck his empty goblet until the glass
vibrated loudly. While waiting for the waitress, he again addressed his
silent companion.
“Do you still wish our engagement broken?”
“No,” faintly.
“You will drop Tom Nichols?” Getting no answer, he repeated his
question with more insistence.
“Yes,” she promised; but the monosyllable was even fainter and more
reluctant than the first.
“Good!” Barnard smiled sunnily upon her; his anger and jealousy a
thing of the past. “I know you will keep faith with me, my darling,” then
he added in a different tone, as their waitress appeared. “Will you please
bring us some more ice water.”
“I—I—must go,” Janet clutched her bag and gloves in desperate
haste. She felt that she should scream if she remained in the room a
moment longer. She was shivering from head to foot.
“No, no, it’s still early,” remonstrated Barnard. “You haven’t finished
your muffin.” But Janet shook her head.
“I must go,” she reiterated; and Barnard, a past-master in knowing
when to concede a point, rose to his feet. As they made their way to the
door, they passed Judge and Mrs. Walbridge, and the latter stopped them.
“I never saw two people so interested in each other,” she declared
breezily; then added with elephantine playfulness, “Of course, Mr.
Barnard was only telling you, Miss Fordyce, about his law cases.”
“Of course,” answered Barnard, the twinkle in his eyes belying his
serious expression. “I was just mentioning to Miss Fordyce that crime
knows no sex.”
Five minutes later Kathryn Allen, back in her far corner of the room,
paid for her tea and scones and went hurriedly out of the shop. She had
never taken her eyes from the two people she had gone there to watch,
and bitterly she regretted that she was not a lip-reader. One thought was
uppermost in her mind. What hold had Chichester Barnard over Janet
Fordyce?
 CHAPTER XVI
A TUG OF WAR
Rhis wife in someJ. surprise.
C -C laid down his pen and regarded
“Are you going to church, Augusta?”
“No, I attended the morning services.” She ensconced herself in a
chair near him. “Pauline told me that you wish to see me.”
“Quite right; but I had no idea you were going out,” Calhoun-Cooper
hesitated. “However, I will not keep you long. Can you tell me who are
Joe’s associates in Washington?”
His wife stirred uneasily. “Do you mean men or girls?”
“Both.”
“Pauline’s friends and mine are his associates,” with an abruptness
equal to his own.
“Are you quite sure, Augusta?” She changed color under the peculiar
emphasis of his voice.
“Quite; Joe has been most exemplary in his behavior,” she saw a
further question trembling on his lips and forestalled it. “You are never
fair to Joe; you take everyone’s word against his. Joe has the making of a
splendid man if you didn’t hector him so continuously. Give the boy a
chance.”
“I have spent years doing it,” Calhoun-Cooper sighed.
“Unfortunately Augusta, what you term a ‘chance’ and I term an
‘opportunity’ are not synonymous.”
“Your ‘opportunity’ spells work, I presume,” and his wife frowned.
“You never recollect Joe’s delicate lungs.”
“Delicate fiddlesticks!” interrupted her exasperated husband. “Too
much smoking....”
“There you go again,” the ready tears filled Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper’s
eyes. “Believing tales because you want to....”
“Nothing of the sort.”
 “Then you must be fairer in your treatment of Joe,” protested his
wife. “Joe takes after my family, and instead of inheriting your robust
health, has our constitutional delicacy.”
Calhoun-Cooper glanced with some grimness mixed with
amusement, at his wife’s large frame and substantial weight. “Too bad
the tendency in your family, when it skipped your generation, didn’t crop
out in Pauline,” he commented slowly. “I would like a detailed answer to
my question, Augusta. Who are Joe’s particular associates?”
“Let me see; Duncan Fordyce and his sister, the Warren girls, Jimmie
Painter, and Carroll Logan”—she paused reflectively.
“Ever hear of a Miss Kathryn Allen?” asked her husband.
“Kathryn Allen? Wasn’t she Joe’s nurse at Garfield....”
“So I have heard,” dryly. “I am told the friendship between them has
—increased.”
“Is Pauline your informant?” demanded his wife, but he pretended
not to hear, and she continued hurriedly, “Whatever you hear in that
quarter is exaggerated nonsense. Far from spending his time with
women, Joe is usually with Chichester Barnard and his other men
friends.”
“I haven’t seen Captain Nichols here lately,” Calhoun-Cooper tore a
fragment of a letter into long pieces and tossed them into the scrap
basket. “Do you know why he has stopped coming to see us?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” answered his wife candidly. “Unless
Pauline has—has not encouraged his attentions.”
“I did not know——” he broke off abruptly. “Tell me, Augusta, have
you been supplying Joe with money lately?”
“I? Oh, dear no,” but her eyes fell before his, and his face grew
graver. “What made you think such a thing?”
“It has happened before,” dryly. “I shall be exceedingly displeased if
you are giving Joe money. I cut down his allowance with very good
reason.”
“I believe you actually begrudge Joe money,” she put in passionately.
“For shame, as wealthy as you are——”
 “It is not a matter of wealth, but of principle,” sternly. “Under the
plea of his supposed constitutional lung weakness you have over-
indulged Joe. It’s greatly my fault,” as his wife’s sobs increased. “I gave
too much time to my business and trusted to incompetent tutors. Joe has
two more years to toe the mark, and in that time his character must be
formed, otherwise he will go to the bad utterly. I hope you have never
disobeyed my injunction against informing him of his prospective
inheritance by the terms of my father’s will?”
“Do you take me for a fool?” she asked sharply, and changed the
subject. “I must say, John, your father was very remiss not to leave a like
amount to Pauline, she bitterly resents Joe’s getting all that money.”
“So you have told Pauline?” Her husband’s eyes kindled in wrath.
“Well, upon my word! Will you never learn discretion?”
Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper promptly took refuge behind more tears, a
bulwark which usually never failed her; but her husband was too
indignant to pay heed to her emotion, and continued sternly: “I trust you
informed Pauline that I would amply provide for her?” renewed sobbing
was his only reply. “I have told you before, Augusta, that I do not
approve of the partiality you show Joe; it is most unfair to Pauline, and
causes constant dissension and unhappiness. It must stop.”
“I’m sure I grant Pauline’s every wish,” exclaimed his wife, much
aggrieved. “She has her own way, and plenty of clothes, jewels——”
“Speaking of jewels,” broke in Calhoun-Cooper. “What has become
of the emerald and diamond bracelet, which formerly belonged to my
mother, the one I gave Pauline on her coming out? I haven’t seen her
wear it lately?”
His wife gulped back a sob, and wiped her eyes with a damp
handkerchief. She also had missed the bracelet, and she had last seen it
in Joe’s hand, Pauline having carelessly left it on her mother’s dressing
table the night of their large dinner dance. Joe had admitted its beauty
just before he went downstairs to assist his sister in welcoming their
guests.
“I—I—it’s at Galt’s being mended,” she stuttered; giving her
husband the same excuse for its disappearance which she had made to
Pauline. “I discovered some of the stones were loose.”
 Calhoun-Cooper contemplated her rapidly crimsoning face with
misgiving. “Did you take the bracelet to Galt’s?”
“Of course. I’ll stop in and get it tomorrow,” she rose precipitously.
“How time flies! It’s after three; I have barely time to get to the informal
musicale Mrs. Fordyce is giving at four o’clock.”
“Do you and Pauline see much of Marjorie Langdon?”
“Not more than we can help,” snapped his wife, her temper getting
the upper hand. “Neither Pauline nor I trust her——”
“Trust her? Exactly what do you mean by that term?”
Startled by the curtness of his tone, Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper stopped on
her way to the door. “We feel that Marjorie Langdon is jealous of
Pauline’s friendship with Janet Fordyce, and is prejudicing her against
us. I’ll tell you more about our suspicion later, John; I must hurry now.
Oh, dear, I don’t believe I’m presentable!” getting a glimpse of her tear-
stained face in the mirror, and turning she hastened from the room.
Calhoun-Cooper remained for some time at his desk; then, after
consulting the telephone book, he rose, and giving a few directions to the
butler, left the house and made his way to Madame Yvonett’s residence.
Earlier in the afternoon Tom Nichols had left Fort Myer intending to
call on Janet. Since his interview with Duncan two days before, he had
received no message from Janet. In very desperation he had placed the
bracelet in a box containing a bunch of violets and left it with the
Fordyce butler the previous afternoon. Perkins had solemnly promised to
give the box to Janet on her return, and with a lighter heart, Tom had
returned to Fort Myer, fully expecting that Janet would call him up on
the telephone. But she never did so. While deeply wounded by her
silence, his longing to see her had finally conquered, and he motored to
Washington that Sunday afternoon intent on demanding an explanation.
On approaching the Fordyce residence he noticed a number of
motors and carriages driving up to the door, and thinking some
entertainment was going on, he promptly turned his car about and made
for his cousin’s house in Thirteenth Street. Madame Yvonett would
probably be able to give him news of Janet. On his arrival, to his great
disgust, he found the Quakeress with a room full of callers, and it was
fully an hour before they departed and he had her to himself.
 “Draw up thy chair, Thomas,” directed Madame Yvonett. “Where has
thee been keeping thyself since Christmas?”
“Mostly at Myer. I’ve called you up on the telephone, Cousin
Yvonett, several times to ask how you were.”
“So Rebekah has told me, and I appreciate the trouble thee has taken.
Will thee let me refill thy cup?”
“No more, thank you,” setting down his empty teacup. “How is
Marjorie?”
“Very busy just now; thee sees the season is in full swing, and she
has little opportunity to come in, but I talk with her every day on the
telephone.”
“Have you seen Janet Fordyce recently,” with elaborate carelessness,
helping himself to a pretzel.
“She was here but yesterday, and inquired particularly——” Madame
Yvonett stopped speaking as Minerva pulled back the hall portière and
Representative J. Calhoun-Cooper walked into the room.
“I fear you do not recall me, Madame Yvonett,” he said, as the
Quakeress rose. “I am John Cooper, and I had the pleasure of calling
upon you and your husband with my father years ago in Paris.”
“Thee does my memory an injustice, Friend Cooper,” exclaimed
Madame Yvonett cordially. “I have a very agreeable recollection of thy
father and thyself. But I admit thee has changed somewhat in appearance
since those days. Does thee know my cousin, Thomas Nichols?”
“Oh, yes, the Captain and I are old acquaintances,” shaking hands
with Tom as he spoke. “What has become of you lately? My wife and
Pauline tell me you have not been near them.”
“My duties at Myer have increased recently; courts-martial, and all
that,” answered Tom, slightly embarrassed by the direct question. He had
heard nothing further of his lost coin, and more than ever convinced that
Joe had stolen it, he had kept away from the Calhoun-Coopers, disliking
to accept their hospitality under the circumstances. “I hope your wife and
daughter are both well,” he added hastily.
“Very well, thanks.” Calhoun-Cooper sat down near Madame
Yvonett, and declining the cup of tea offered him, began speaking of
Paris, and the Quakeress, enchanted at the allusion to the city and life she
had loved so well, recounted amusing experiences of her sojourn in the
French capital.
Tom took but little part in the conversation, and fidgeted uneasily. He
was determined to find out from Madame Yvonett all that she could tell
him about Janet, and waited with increasing impatience for Calhoun-
Cooper to take his departure. But he found out-sitting the Representative
a harder tax on his nervous system than he had bargained for.
“Thee brings back happy memories,” said Madame Yvonett, with a
half-sigh. “Must thee go?” as Calhoun-Cooper stood up, “I have enjoyed
thy visit, friend; and if thee has an idle hour thee must come again.”
“I will,” promised Calhoun-Cooper, shaking hands warmly; then
turning to the expectant Tom, he asked; “Walk uptown with me, Nichols,
I am anxious to have a word with you.”
Tom’s face fell, and he was about to explain that he was obliged to
return almost immediately to Fort Myer when Madame Yvonett
answered for him.
“Go with Friend Cooper, Thomas,” she said, “and return and have
supper with me.”
“Thanks, Cousin Yvonett, I will. I only hesitated, sir,” addressing
Calhoun-Cooper, “because I am not walking; but I’ll be very happy to
take you home in my car.”
It was the Representative’s turn to hesitate. “Suppose you leave me at
the club instead,” he said finally. “Good night, Madame Yvonett.”
“Good night, friend,” the Quakeress accompanied the two men to her
front door. “Do not forget thee must come again soon.”
“I certainly will,” and raising his hat, Calhoun-Cooper stepped into
the motor. He watched Madame Yvonett until she closed the door. “A
gentlewoman of the old school, Nichols,” he commented softly.
“Cultured, brilliant, kindly——”
“She is that and then some,” exclaimed Tom enthusiastically.
“Cousin Yvonett is a brick.”
Calhoun-Cooper smiled. “Hardly the expression I should have
selected, but perhaps it covers my meaning.” He said no more until the
car drew up before his club. “Come in with me, Nichols, I am anxious to
have an uninterrupted talk with you. I will detain you but a few
minutes.”
Barely waiting for Tom’s assent, he strode into the club and led the
way to a small unoccupied room and carefully closed the door. Tom took
the chair pushed toward him, and waited with some uneasiness for his
companion to explain why he wished to see him. He wondered if
Calhoun-Cooper had heard of some of Joe’s Washington escapades, and
if he was to be catechised on the subject.
“Miss Marjorie Langdon is your cousin, is she not?” asked Calhoun-
Cooper, breaking the silence.
“Yes; my second cousin, to be exact.”
“Can you tell me where she procured the emerald and diamond
bracelet which she pledged with the Justice of the Peace at
Hyattsville...?”
“Can I what?” exclaimed Tom, in profound astonishment.
Calhoun-Cooper repeated the question.
“May I ask what earthly business it is of yours?” demanded Tom.
“The bracelet happens to belong to my daughter, Pauline,” was the
calm reply.
Hardly able to believe his ears, Tom sat back in his chair and glared
at Calhoun-Cooper.
“I was motoring down from Baltimore Christmas afternoon, and was
arrested for speeding just after your release,” continued the
Representative, receiving no response from his dumfounded companion.
“While paying my fine I saw and recognized Pauline’s bracelet lying on
the desk before the Justice of the Peace. He informed me it had been left
there by Miss Marjorie Langdon.” Tom’s convulsive start was not lost on
Calhoun-Cooper. “Will you kindly tell me how your cousin obtained
possession of my daughter’s bracelet?”
Tom stared stupidly at his questioner. “You’re cra—crazy,” he
stuttered. “My cou—cousin left her—left her own bracelet with the
Justice.”
“She did no such thing,” shortly. “I examined the bracelet carefully;
it belonged to my mother before I gave it to my daughter, and her
initials, my father’s, and the date of the wedding are engraved on the
inside of the bracelet. There was no possibility of my being mistaken.
Did you redeem the bracelet?”
“Yes.”
“Let me see it?” holding out his hand.
“I can’t; I’ve returned it....”
“In that case,” slowly, “suppose we ask Miss Langdon for it.”
Tom squirmed in his seat. Ask Marjorie? Then indeed the fat would
be in the fire, and his promise to Janet to keep her presence at Hyattsville
a profound secret would be broken. Marjorie would undoubtedly declare
she had not been with him at Hyattsville.
“You must be mistaken about the bracelet, sir,” he protested
vehemently. “Call up and ask your daughter if she hasn’t her own.”
“I asked her this morning, and she informed me it was not in her
possession.”
Tom turned white. What the devil was the man driving at? It must be
Janet’s bracelet; she would have been wearing none but her own that
afternoon. A wealthy girl did not deck herself out in other people’s
jewelry.
“I intended seeing you before this, Nichols,” continued Calhoun-
Cooper, after an appreciable pause. “But I have been exceedingly busy
for the past four days, and have had no opportunity to take up the matter
of the bracelet until today. I not only prize the piece of jewelry for its
association and money value, but I am determined to find out how that
bracelet got out of my daughter’s possession.”
“What did your bracelet look like?”
Quickly Calhoun-Cooper told him, and Tom’s heart sank; it was an
accurate description of the one Janet had pledged with the Justice and he
had later redeemed.
“Do you recognize it?” demanded the Representative, and Tom
nodded a reluctant assent.
“They sound the same,” he acknowledged cautiously. “But stranger
coincidences have been known. Perhaps your daughter was also
motoring on the Bladensburg Pike that afternoon.”
 “Don’t be a fool!” retorted Calhoun-Cooper roughly. “That bracelet
was stolen....”
“D—mn you!” Tom sprang for the other’s throat.
“Take your hands off me!” thundered Calhoun-Cooper, struggling to
free himself.
“I’ll make you eat those words first,” and Tom’s grasp tightened.
“I didn’t say your cousin stole the bracelet,” panted the other. “Have
a little sense.”
Slowly Tom released him, and the Representative straightened his
rumpled collar and tie.
“Suppose you explain exactly what you are driving at,” said Tom,
resuming his seat.
Calhoun-Cooper did not reply at once. “I went to Madame Yvonett’s
intending to question her....”
“Good Lord!” broke in Tom.
“But on seeing that dear old Quakeress I couldn’t do it,” admitted
Calhoun-Cooper. “I’m a great believer in caste, Nichols; no niece of
Madame Yvonett’s will go wrong. Ask Marjorie Langdon to tell you the
truth about that bracelet, and I will believe every word she says.”
“Thanks,” mumbled Tom, at a loss for a longer answer.
“I will let you speak to Miss Langdon; she’ll probably confide the
whole matter to you,” added Calhoun-Cooper, rising, and Tom followed
his example. “But remember, if I don’t get that bracelet back in two days
with an adequate explanation, I’ll go to Miss Langdon myself, and if
necessary—to the police.”
“That threat is not necessary,” exclaimed Tom, his anger rising. “And
speaking of making criminal investigations, sir; hadn’t you better watch
a member of your own family?”
Calhoun-Cooper recoiled, and before he could recover from the
emotion that mastered him, Tom was out of the club and into his
roadster. As the car shot away into the darkness, Tom laid his head
wearily on the steering wheel.
“In God’s name,” he mumbled, “how can I question the girl I adore
as to how a piece of jewelry came into her possession?”
 CHAPTER XVII
OUT OF THE FRYING-PAN
Mregarding
. F awoke from her nap to discover Janet
her from the depths of a big tufted arm-chair.
earnestly

“Bless me, Cutie!” she ejaculated. “Have I been asleep?”

“You certainly have,” admitted Janet laughing. It was not often her
mother called her by the familiar, schoolgirl nickname. “And snoring,
too.”
“Janet!”
“Well, just a little snore,” hastily, noting her mother’s offended
expression. “I wouldn’t have disturbed you, mumsie, dear, if I hadn’t
thought Marjorie was here with you. I am sorry my entrance awoke
you.”
“I have no business to be sleeping at this hour.” Mrs. Fordyce shook
herself more fully awake and glanced at the clock. “Are you not lunching
with the Thayers today?”
“Not going there until Saturday,” shortly. “Thank goodness I’m
having a little rest today.”
“Are you tired, dear?”
“Somewhat,” reluctantly.
“Then perhaps you had better give up going to the dance tonight
——?”
“Miss the Charity Ball? Well, I guess not. Why, mumsie, they say
that’s the greatest fun ever.”
“I was only thinking of your health; you and Marjorie have both gone
out rather strenuously this past week, and Marjorie is showing the strain
also.”
“Then let her stay at home,” calmly. “I’m quite capable of taking care
of myself; and, mumsie, people are laughing at me for being tied to
Marjorie’s apron-strings.”
 “What people?”
“Oh, some of the girls,” vaguely. “When you come down to it,
mumsie, it is rather annoying to have to ask advice and instruction from
a girl only a few years older than I.”
Mrs. Fordyce looked troubled. “Has Marjorie been officious in any
way?”
“N—no,” reflectively. “But going to Marjorie for advice and seeing
her presiding in your place isn’t agreeable to me. I miss you, mumsie,
dear.”
“My baby girl!” Mrs. Fordyce crossed the room and gave her
daughter a loving kiss and hug. “And I miss you; but, dearest, it is
impossible for me to take part in the gay world, and I made this
arrangement with Marjorie as the best way to further your interests and
pleasure. Duncan tells me she is extremely popular and....”
“Oh, Duncan!” Janet shrugged her shoulders disdainfully. “Duncan
will tell you anything to keep Marjorie here—he’s crazy about her.”
“What!” Mrs. Fordyce dropped back in her chair and gazed with
astonished eyes at Janet.
“Haven’t you noticed his infatuation?”
“Noticed it? Of course I haven’t,” with some sternness. “What
meddlesome Mattie has been hinting such a thing?”
“My two eyes,” tartly. “Hadn’t you better be using yours, mumsie?”
“That will do; I will not permit impertinence.”
“Well, if you will leave me under Marjorie’s influence....”
“I have yet to see one act or word on Marjorie Langdon’s part which
you might not copy with impunity,” declared Mrs. Fordyce with
decision. “And I have been thrown with her even more than you. No, it is
someone else who is responsible for your sudden—flippancy,” hesitating
for a word. A knock sounded on the boudoir door, and she called out:
“Come in. Well, Perkins, what it is?” as the butler appeared in the
doorway.
“Miss Calhoun-Cooper wishes to see Miss Janet a moment,” he
replied.
 “Sit still, Janet,” directed Mrs. Fordyce, as her daughter made a
motion to rise. “Ask Miss Calhoun-Cooper to come up here, Perkins.”
“I thought you didn’t like Pauline?” said Janet in surprise, as the
butler retreated down the hall to the elevator.
“You have just convinced me that I am leaving you too much with
others, Janet,” dryly. “Hereafter I shall take pains to see more of your
friends. Good morning,” as Pauline entered the room. “You are very
good to come upstairs.”
“The idea of putting it that way, dear Mrs. Fordyce.” Pauline shook
hands effusively with her, and kissed Janet warmly. “Please don’t let me
disturb you; I only stopped to ask if Janet would care to go with me to
see Kellar, the magician, on Friday afternoon.”
“Of course I will,” exclaimed Janet, heartily. “Thanks so much; I
dote on Kellar.”
“Then you have seen him before?”
“Yes, a number of years ago. He’s sure to have some new tricks by
this time; I had no idea he was coming to Washington.”
“Kellar is only giving this one matinée performance. Do you think
your brother would care to go?”
“I’m sure he would; I’ll ask him,” rising hurriedly.
“Duncan is out just now,” put in Mrs. Fordyce. “He telephoned he
would lunch at the club.”
“I’ll let you know as soon as he comes in,” promised Janet, dropping
down on the sofa beside Pauline.
“You are very good to invite my girl and boy,” said Mrs. Fordyce. “I
thank you for giving them so much pleasure.”
“The pleasure is mine,” insisted Pauline, lending undue emphasis to
the hackneyed phrase. “I regret I was only able to get four seats together,
Janet, and therefore cannot ask Miss Langdon to accompany us. Captain
Nichols has already promised to make the fourth in our small party.”
“We have not seen much of Captain Nichols lately,” commented Mrs.
Fordyce.
“Nor we,” answered Pauline. “I met him just as I was leaving the
theater this morning, and asked him then and there, to my relief, for it is
almost impossible to get him on the telephone. He tells me his quarters
are not connected with the post ’phone, and he has to go to the officers’
club to get and send messages.”
“What keeps him so busy?” Janet examined Pauline’s jewel-studded
gold mesh bag with open admiration.
“When I taxed him with not calling, he said his official duties had
kept him tied to Fort Myer. That excuse covers his not visiting us”—with
an affected laugh, “but of course, there’s another reason for his not
calling here....”
“And pray, what is that?” demanded Mrs. Fordyce, eyeing her
daughter’s flushed countenance intently.
“A lover’s quarrel with—Marjorie Langdon.” Pauline pronounced
the name with much impressiveness. If she heard Janet’s sudden, sharply
drawn breath, she gave no sign.
“Captain Nichols and Marjorie!” exclaimed Mrs. Fordyce in
bewilderment. “You surprise me. I never knew he was attentive to her.”
“I suppose his relationship covers his attentions to the casual
observer,” went on Pauline thoughtfully. “How nearly related are they?”
“I believe he is Marjorie’s second cousin,” answered Janet in a voice
she strove to make indifferent.
“So there’s no bar to their marriage; except I believe, Miss Langdon
does not fancy love in a cottage.”
“You do Marjorie an injustice,” announced Mrs. Fordyce quietly. “If
her affections were really engaged, I don’t think she would hesitate to
make any sacrifice.”
“I hope your good opinion of her is justified.” Pauline flushed at the
rebuke, which Mrs. Fordyce’s manner more than her words, conveyed.
“Miss Langdon has gained a reputation for mercenary selfishness.”
“Poverty is apt to teach one the value of money,” replied Mrs.
Fordyce. “Still, that is different from being staring and stark mad; and I
for one shall give Marjorie the benefit of the doubt. Every cent of money
she has, she lavishes on her aunt, Madame Yvonett; that does not look to
me like ‘mercenary selfishness.’”
“Miss Langdon is fortunate to have you for a friend,” Pauline rose.
“And I am afraid she needs them, poor girl; people are not always
prepossessed in her favor.” Her voice expressed deep commiseration,
and Mrs. Fordyce felt inclined to box her ears. Accustomed to being
accorded every deference by her family, and protected by her seclusion
from contact with the free and easy manner of the younger generation to
their elders, she deeply resented Pauline’s flouting address and flippant
style. Pauline, busy adjusting her furs, missed the disapproving look cast
in her direction, and turning to Janet, asked: “Will I see you at the ball
tonight?”
“Yes, we expect to go.” Some of the enthusiasm of the morning had
gone from the fresh young voice, and again Mrs. Fordyce covertly
studied her daughter. What had come over Janet?
“Your box is next ours,” continued Pauline, lingering near the sofa.
“Mrs. Walbridge is on our other side. Mother always insists on finding
out who our neighbors will be before purchasing tickets for charitable
entertainments.”
“As a health precaution?” inquired Mrs. Fordyce. “Or is it a question
of social prestige?”
“Both,” acknowledged Pauline quickly. “So many things are catching
these days, we don’t like to come in contact with—dirt.” And her
meaning smile deepened as she saw Mrs. Fordyce flinch; she had scored
at last. “We all have our idiosyncrasies, dear Mrs. Fordyce; good-bye.
Don’t trouble to come downstairs with me, Janet, I can find my way out
alone.”
“Of course I’m coming with you.” Janet followed her friend out of
the room, leaving her mother sitting in her chair in a brown study. She
was aroused almost immediately by Janet’s re-entrance.
“What an odious creature!” she shivered. “Upon my word, Janet,
what’s the world coming to? Are there no ladies any more?”
“Now don’t be old-fashioned,” Janet threw herself down pettishly on
the sofa. “Can you give me some money, mumsie?”
“What has become of your father’s Christmas check?”
“Spent,” laconically. “I can’t help it, mumsie; money just evaporates
in this old town. I just want to buy a—a—new bracelet,” glancing down
deprecatingly at her bare wrist.
“You have a careless hand, Janet,” said her mother reprovingly.
“However, I cannot have you want for anything. Will a check for fifty
dollars do?”
“Oh, yes; thank you, darling,” beaming gratefully upon her mother.
“But instead of a check, could you give me——” she stopped as some
one rapped on the door. In response to Mrs. Fordyce’s bidding, Marjorie
stepped into the room.
“Am I late?” she asked, laying a bundle of papers on the table beside
Mrs. Fordyce.
“Twenty-five minutes ahead of luncheon,” answered Janet shortly.
“What have you here, Marjorie?” Mrs. Fordyce put her hand on the
papers.
“Receipted bills,” Marjorie drew up her chair and sorted the papers
carefully.
“The butcher, the baker, and the candlestick maker,” quoted Mrs.
Fordyce, busily inspecting Marjorie. She saw her through new eyes, the
eyes of a mother judging a possible daughter-in-law. Suddenly, she
pressed her fingers against her eyes; the lids were wet with tears.
“If I were you, I would stop dealing with Jackson,” announced
Marjorie, finding the particular bill she was searching for. “He calmly
sent in an unitemized account, calling for seventy-five dollars, and when
I insisted on going over his books, we found he had overcharged you
eighteen dollars. I gave him the check Mr. Fordyce had made out for the
larger sum on condition that he refund me the eighteen dollars. Here it
is,” tumbling the money out on the table.
“You won’t be popular with the cook, Marjorie, if you have
interfered with her rake-off,” snapped Janet. “What’s a few dollars to
father?”
“Janet!” Mrs. Fordyce spoke in a tone that Marjorie had never heard
before, and her daughter on but one other occasion. “You forget yourself
strangely this morning; apologize at once to Marjorie for your
unnecessary remark.”
“I meant no offense to Marjorie,” protested Janet. “I merely intended
to say it was silly of her to interfere after things have been bought and
paid for.”
“Your explanation strikes me as being worse than the offense,” Mrs.
Fordyce was thoroughly aroused, and not heeding Marjorie’s attempt to
restore peace, added, “I am grateful to Marjorie for saving me from a
swindler; apparently you think because the amount is small that I should
submit to being robbed. Let me tell you, Janet, that no one is so rich that
he can stand being fleeced, and any woman who knowingly permits graft
in her kitchen is worse than a fool. Never let me hear you again advocate
condoning knavery.”
Janet bowed before the storm. “I won’t, mother,” meekly. “Indeed,
Marjorie, I did not mean to insult you in any way.”
“I am sure you didn’t,” answered Marjorie, more puzzled than hurt
by Janet’s peculiar manner; they had been from their first meeting sworn
allies and good comrades. “Please think no more about it, dear.”
“What dirty money!” Mrs. Fordyce withdrew her hand from the table
hastily. “Do take it away.”
“With pleasure,” laughed Janet, recovering somewhat her usually
sunny disposition, and she was about to gather up the soiled bank notes
when her mother stopped her.
“No, you must not touch them,” she declared, and Marjorie opened
her eyes at her vehemence. “I will have Calderon send them to the
Treasury to be redeemed.”
“Beg pardon, ma’am,” said Perkins from behind the half-open door.
“Captain Nichols is at the telephone and wishes to speak to——”
“Me, Perkins?” and Janet sprang to her feet.
“No, Miss Janet, he asked for Miss Langdon.”
“Won’t you take the message for me, Janet?” inquired Marjorie,
laying a paper-weight over the receipted bills.
“No, certainly not,” and Janet disappeared from the room.
“Pay no attention to her whims,” advised Mrs. Fordyce kindly. “I’ll
go over the accounts with you later; don’t keep Captain Nichols
waiting.”
Marjorie found Tom exceedingly curt on the telephone, and she hung
up the receiver a few seconds later, wondering what under the sun
induced everyone to become so ill-tempered all of a sudden. As she
walked through the dining-room after leaving the pantry, where she had
gone to answer the telephone in preference to disturbing Mr. Calderon
Fordyce in his library, she encountered Janet pouring out a glass of ice
water.
“What did your cousin want?” she asked.
“He said he would be unable to dine here tonight....”
“Does he think we run a hotel,” Janet was pale with anger, “that he
breaks our invitations at will? How dare he treat us so cavalierly!”
“Stop!” Marjorie’s authoritative voice, though low-pitched, brought
the furious girl to her senses. “Captain Nichols intends no disrespect to
your family or to you; in fact, he highly appreciates your kindness and
hospitality.”
“Then why doesn’t he come here?”
“He told me to tell you that he had received an invitation to dine at
the White House, and therefore had to cancel his engagement here, to his
great regret. He will join us later at the Charity Ball.”
“I see,” Janet’s face altered. “I understand now, please say
nothing....”
“Certainly not,” and Marjorie, seeing that Janet obviously desired to
be alone, made her way thoughtfully to her room.
Once there she lost no time in getting out her calling costume
preparatory to a hurried toilet after luncheon. On reaching up for her hat
which she kept on the top shelf in her closet, she knocked down a
cherished florist’s box and out tumbled a withered bunch of violets. With
an exclamation of annoyance, she stooped to pick up the petals and dried
leaves, and her fingers closed over cold metal. Considerably startled,
Marjorie retreated to the window and examined what she held in her
hand. It was a beautiful emerald and diamond bracelet which was
carefully secured about the short stems of the bouquet.
Marjorie gazed at it in complete bewilderment; then going over to the
closet, she picked up the box and its cover. It bore the florist’s name from
whom Duncan had sent her a corsage bouquet some days before; but
certainly when she wore the violets and afterward put them away for safe
keeping no bracelet had encircled the stems.
More and more startled Marjorie returned to the window, and
inspected the bracelet with minute care. The unique design seemed oddly