them. He had become incredulous of any such connection, but he breathed more quickly as he began to spell out the caption below the picture which had lain underneath this last printed slip:
"Mrs. Walter Wendell Markyn and her sister-in-law, Mrs. Arthur Cord."
Mrs. Walter Wendell Markyn? Who was she? His father's wife? Did the caption identify him with these important Markyns? There would not be two people by that name. He gazed intently at this picture of two ladies. She was very pretty, he thought—his father's wife, if it was his father. She would be the one upon the left. She was like the women who had given him money upon the streets, only she was more beautiful than any of those women. She seemed quite young. She was outdoors, carrying a parasol; her face was sweet and tender, her gaze frank and kind. His throat closed up, and he trembled with vaguely painful feelings. After looking at her a long while, he put the picture aside and turned to the next clipping. "Walter Wendell Markyn and Marion Beman are married. Society romance ends a feud orig-
