Barbara was growing tired of the reception.  She had been introduced to so many people that her brain was fairly spinning in an effort to remember their names.  Again Bab looked across at Miss Moore.  This time the newspaper girl pointed with her pencil through a small open door, near which she was standing.  Her actions said as plainly as any words could speak:  “Follow me when you have a chance.  There is something I must tell you!” The next instant Marjorie Moore vanished through this door and was lost to sight.

A few minutes later Bab managed to slip over to that side of the room.  She intended merely to peep out the open door to see whether Miss Moore were waiting for her in the hall.  Bab carefully watched her opportunity.  Mr. Hamlin and the girls were not looking.  Now was her chance.  She was just at the door, when some one intercepted her.

“Ah!  Good evening, Miss Thurston,” said a suave voice.

Barbara turned, blushing again to confront the Chinese Minister looking more magnificent than ever in his Imperial robes of state.

The young girl paused and greeted the official.  Still the Chinese Minister regarded her gravely with his inscrutable Oriental eyes that seemed to look her through and through.  He seemed always about to ask her some question.

Of course, Barbara was obliged to give up her effort to follow Marjorie Moore, though she was still devoured with curiosity to know what the girl had wished to say to her.  The next ten minutes, wherever Bab went, she felt the Chinese Minister’s gaze follow her.

It was not until Barbara Thurston discovered that the Oriental gentleman had himself withdrawn from the reception room that she mustered up a sufficient courage to try her venture the second time.

“Miss Moore, of course, is not expecting me now,” Barbara thought.  “But as I have a chance, I will see what has become of her.”

Bab peeped cautiously out through the still open door.  She saw only an empty corridor with a servant standing idly in the hall.  Should she go forward?  No; Barbara did not, of course, dare to wander through the White House halls alone.  She was too likely to find herself in some place to which visitors were not admitted.

The servant who waited in the hall saw Barbara hesitate, then turn back.  He leaned over and whispered mysteriously:  “You are to come to the door at the west side, which opens on the lawn.  The young woman left a message that she would wait for you there.”

“But I don’t know the west side,” Bab faltered hesitatingly, feeling that she ought to turn back, yet anxious to go on.

“The young woman said it was most important for her to see you; I can show you the way to the west door,” the man went on.

Barbara now quickly made up her mind.  Marjorie Moore was only a girl like herself.  If she needed her or if she wanted to confide in her, Bab meant to answer the summons.