said so."

"Yes; I--I have your letter. I received it about an hour ago. It was
forwarded to me--to my cousin and me--here in London."

"Here in London! Then you did not come to London in answer to that
letter?"

"No. My cousin and I--"

"What cousin? What is his name?"

"His name? It isn't a--That is, the cousin is a woman. She is Miss
Hephzibah Cahoon, your--your mother's half-sister. She is--Why, she is
your aunt!"

It was a fact; Hephzibah was this young lady's aunt. I don't know why
that seemed so impossible and ridiculous, but it did. The young lady
herself seemed to find it so.

"My aunt?" she repeated. "I didn't know--But--but, why is my--my aunt
here with you?"

"We are on a pleasure trip. We--I beg your pardon. What have I been
thinking of? Don't stand. Please sit down."

She accepted the invitation. As she walked toward the chair it seemed to
me that she staggered a little. I noticed then for the first time, how
very slender she was, almost emaciated. There were dark hollows beneath
her eyes and her face was as white as the bed-linen--No, I am wrong; it
was whiter than Mrs. Briggs' bed-linen.

"Are you ill?" I asked involuntarily.

She did not answer. She seated herself in the chair and fixed her dark
eyes upon me. They were large eyes and very dark. Hephzy said, when
she first saw them, that they looked like "burnt holes in a blanket."
Perhaps they did; that simile did not occur to me.

"You have read my letter?" she asked.

It was evident that I must have read the letter or I should not have
learned where to find her, but I did not call attention to this. I said
simply that I had read the letter.

"Then what do you propose?" she asked.

"Propose?"

"Yes," impatiently. "What proposition do you make me? If you have read
the letter you must know what I mean. You must have come here for the
purpose of saying something, of making some offer. What is it?"

I was speechless. I had come there to find an impudent young blackguard
and tell him what I thought of him. That was as near a definite reason
for my coming as any. If I had not acted upon impulse, if I had stopped
to consider, it is quite likely that I should not have come at all. But
the blackguard was--was--well, he was not and never had been. In his
place was this white-faced, frail girl. I couldn't tell her what I
thought of her. I didn't know what to think.

She waited for me to answer and, as I continued to play the dumb idiot,
h