Fleming Stone was of a most attractive personality. He was nearly fifty years old, with graying hair and a kindly, responsive face.

At dinner he had won the admiration of all by his tact and interesting conversation. At the table the business upon which he had come had not been mentioned, but now the group assembled in the library felt that the time had come to talk of the matter.

It was a strangely-assorted household. Tom Willard, though the only relative of the Van Normans present, was in no way the head of the house. That position was held by Miss Morton, who, though kindhearted and hospitable, never let it be forgotten that she was owner and mistress of the mansion.

Kitty French was an honored guest, and as Miss Morton had invited her to stay as long as she would, she had determined now to stay through Mr. Stone’s sojourn there, after which, whatever the results of his work, she would go back to her home in New York.