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"Oh," she cried, "I must find out who is right, and who is wrong! I must know about my father, and what he has done!" Presently, she leaped to her feet, crossed to her dressing-table and picked up the photograph of a man—a young man with a square chin and wonderful eyes—so she thought—that looked her squarely in the face.

"Eliot," she said softly, to the picture, "you're always honest with me, are you not? You're honest with everybody. I wonder if you will find out for me—the truth about my father."

Now she drew the photograph nearer to her, and her eyes grew soft and tender, and, for the time being, she forgot Ilingsworth and his daughter Elinor; forgot the Tri-State Trust Company and its alleged iniquities; forgot even her father, Peter V. Wilkinson.

"Eliot, dear," she whispered, "I wonder what you would think of me, if you knew that I did this?" Whereupon, she pressed her soft, warm, young face against the pictured one. "Maybe you'll never know, though," she went on; "maybe you'll never take the trouble to find out."

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