“She has lost all of her luggage!”

“The poor young lady!” cried good Nora.

“Yes, it is really terrible, isn’t it?  Everything lost; through the carelessness of the railroads, you know.  And such beautiful gowns as they were.  So—­so unusual.  Poor Miss Ann was forced to arrive in a dress most unsuited to traveling, and is now quite—­oh quite—­destitute.”

Nora held her head with both hands, speechless.

“Didn’t you tell me, Nora, that your cousin’s wife was very clever at sewing—­at fixing things over?”

“Yes, yes, Miss Kate—­yes’m.”

“I wonder, Nora, would she come and help us?”

“She would be that glad, Miss Kate.  She—­”

“You see, Miss Ann is not very well.  She—­poor Miss Ann, I hope you will be very kind to her.  She is an orphan, like you, Nora.”

Nora wiped both eyes.

“And just now it would be too dreadful for her to have to see about a lot of things.  So I think, temporarily, we could arrange some of my things; let them down a little, and perhaps take them in—­Miss Ann is a little taller and a little slimmer than I. Could you send for your cousin’s wife to help us, Nora?”

Profusely, o’erflowingly, Nora affirmed that this would be possible.

When Captain Jones came in from the shops for luncheon it was to find his sister installed in the hall, one of those roomy halls adapted to all purposes of living, some white and pink and blue things strewn around her, doing something with a scissors.  Just what she was doing seemed to concern him very little, for he sat down at a table near her, pulled out some blue prints, and began studying them.  “Thank heaven for the saving qualities of firearms,” mused Katherine, industriously letting out a tuck.

But luncheon seemed to suggest the social side of life, for after they were seated he asked:  “Oh yes, by the way, where’s Miss—­”

“Ann is still sleeping,” replied Kate easily.

“She must be a good sleeper,” ventured Wayne.

“Ann is tired, Wayne,” she said with reproving dignity, “and as I have already told you several times without seeming to reach through the bullets on your brain, not well.  She is here for a rest.  She may not come down for several days.”

“Not what one would call a hilarious guest,” he commented.

“No, less hilarious than Zelda Fraser.”  Katie spitefully mentioned a former guest whom Wayne had particularly detested.

He laughed.  “Well, who is she?  What did you say her name was?”

“Oh Wayne,” she sighed long-sufferingly, “again—­once again—­let me tell you that her name is Forrest.”

“What Forrest?”

“’Um, I don’t believe you know Ann’s people.”

“Not the Major Forrest family?”

“No, not that family; not army people at all.”

“Well, what people?  I can’t seem to place her.”

“Ann is of—­artistic people.  Her father was a great artist.  That is, he would have been a great artist had he not died when he was very young.”