Yet the longing in her heart increased, to see them, even to find out the worst possible about them, just to have them for her own. Not to be alone in the great world.

There was a sister, too, and how wonderful it would be to have a sister! She had always wished for a sister. Or—perhaps the sister had not lived after all! The letter said she was delicate. Perhaps she had died. Perhaps that was the reason why her mother wanted her. Perhaps she had no others to love her and comfort her. Perhaps the father might be dead too!

Marjorie buried her face in her pillow and wept.

The morning mail brought two invitations to spend Christmas week with friends.

Christmas was only ten days off, and it loomed large and gloomy. The thought of Christmas without the only mother she had ever known seemed intolerable.

One of the invitations was from a distant cousin of Mrs. Wetherill’s, a kindly person with a large house, given to entertaining. The other was from an old schoolmate living in Boston. Both invitations spelled gaiety and good cheer, but they somehow did not appeal to her now. Her grief was too recent, and her feeling of loneliness too poignant to be diminished by mingling with a giddy throng of pleasure-seekers. In fact, that kind of Christmas never did appeal to her at any time. She liked simpler pleasures. Besides, her heart was too restless just now to plunge into worldliness and try to forget her loss.

All day she went about trying to make a decision, now almost deciding to accept one of the invitations and end her uncertainty, now playing with the idea of going to search out her birth family and learn once for all what they were like.

But when she reasoned that perhaps forgetting was best for the present, and tried to decide which invitation she should accept, she realized that she didn’t feel like going to either place.

Oh, of course they would all be very kind and put themselves out to make her have a good time, but Christmas couldn’t be Christmas this year, no matter how it was planned.

She was still in her unsettled state of mind when evening came and Evan Brower arrived to call upon her.

The Browers were one of the best old families, and among the closest friends of the Wetherills. Evan Brower was three or four years older than Marjorie, and though she had known him practically all her life, it had not been until the last year that he had paid her much attention. Mrs. Wetherill had been very fond of him, and of late he had been often at the house, one of the closest friends Marjorie had. Yet the two were still on the basis of friendship, nothing closer.

Marjorie was glad of his coming as a relief from the perplexities that had been with her all day, and smiled a real welcome as he took her hand in greeting.

“You are looking tired and white!” he said, scrutinizing her face sharply. “You need a change, and I’ve come to offer one. Mother wants you to come and stay a couple of weeks with her. She thought you might like to help her get ready for the family gathering at Christmastime. It will take your mind off your loneliness. You know your mother would never want you to mope. Mother thought maybe you would come over tomorrow and just consider you are on a visit.”

Marjorie’s heart sank. Here was the question again! And a family gathering! The hardest kind of a thing to go through, with this thought of her own unknown family in the back of her mind. Suddenly she knew she could not go anywhere till that matter was settled! She had to know just where she stood before ever she went among people again. She lifted her eyes to Evan’s kindly, pleasant face and tried to decline his offer in a gracious way.

“Oh, that is dear of your mother, Evan!” she said. “I do appreciate it a lot, and some other time I’d love to come, but just now I don’t feel I could.”

He settled down comfortably to combat her, just as if he had expected to have to do so.

“Now, you know that isn’t a bit sensible, Marjorie. There’s no point in stretching out your grief.