had no idea--" he said. "Why, now--now you are Sir Marcus Ordeyne!"

"It sounds idiotic, doesn't it?" said I, with a smile. "But I suppose I
-am."

And so came my release from captivity. I was profoundly affected by the
awful disaster, but it would be sheer hypocrisy if I said that I felt
personal grief. I knew none of the dead, of whom I verily believe the
valet was the worthiest man. My grandfather and uncles had ignored
my existence. Not a helping hand had they stretched out to my widowed
mother in her poverty, when one kindly touch would have meant all.

They do not seem to have been a lovable race, the Ordeynes. What my
father, the youngest son, was like, I have no idea, as he died when
I was two years old, but my mother, who was somewhat stern and
puritanical, spoke of him very much as she would have spoken of the
prophet Joel, had he been a personal acquaintance.

Seven years to-day have I been a free man.

Feeling at peace with all the world I called this afternoon on my Aunt
Jessica, Mrs. Ordeyne, who has borne me no malice for stepping into the
place that should have been the inheritance of her husband and of her
son. Rather has she devised to adopt me, to guide my ambitions and to
point out my duties as the head of the house. If I refuse to be adopted,
avoid ambitions and disclaim duties, the fault lies not with her
good-will. She is a well-preserved worldly woman of fifty-five, and
having begun to dye her hair in the peroxide of hydrogen era has not
the curiosity to abandon the practice and see what colour will result.
I wish I could like her. I can't. She purrs. Some day I feel she will
scratch. She received me graciously.

"My dear Marcus. At last! Didn't you know I have been in town ever since
Easter?"

"No," said I. "I am afraid I didn't." Which was true. "Why didn't you
tell me?"

"I would have asked you to dinner, but you will never come. As for
At Home cards I never dream of sending them to you. It is a waste of
precious half-penny stamps."

"You might have written me a nice little letter about nothing at all," I
suggested.

"For you to say 'What is that woman worrying me with her silly letters
for?' I know what you men are." She looked arch.

This is precisely what I should have said. As I am not an inventive
liar, I could only smile feebly. I am never at my ease with Aunt
Jessica. I am not the kind of person to afford her entertainment. I do
not belong to her world of opulence, and if