er impatience grew. Her brows--very dark brown they were, almost black
against the pallor of her face--drew together and her foot began to pat
the faded carpet. "I am waiting," she said.

I realized that I must say something, so I said the only thing which
occurred to me. It was a question.

"Your father is dead?" I asked.

She nodded. "My letter told you that," she answered. "He died in Paris
three years ago."

"And--and had he no relatives here in England?"

She hesitated before replying. "No near relatives whom he cared to
recognize," she answered haughtily. "My father, Mr. Knowles was a
gentleman and, having been most unjustly treated by his own family,
as well as by OTHERS"--with a marked emphasis on the word--"he did not
stoop, even in his illness and distress, to beg where he should have
commanded."

"Oh! Oh, I see," I said, feebly.

"There is no reason why you should see. My father was the second son
and--But this is quite irrelevant. You, an American, can scarcely be
expected to understand English family customs. It is sufficient that,
for reasons of his own, my father had for years been estranged from his
own people."

The air with which this was delivered was quite overwhelming. If I had
not known Strickland Morley, and a little of his history, I should have
been crushed.

"Then you have been quite alone since his death?" I asked.

Again she hesitated. "For a time," she said, after a moment. "I lived
with a married cousin of his in one of the London suburbs. Then I--But
really, Mr. Knowles, I cannot see that my private affairs need interest
you. As I understand it, this interview of ours is quite impersonal, in
a sense. You understand, of course--you must understand--that in writing
as I did I was not seeking the acquaintance of my mother's relatives. I
do not desire their friendship. I am not asking them for anything. I am
giving them the opportunity to do justice, to give me what is my own--my
OWN. If you don't understand this I--I--Oh, you MUST understand it!"

She rose from the chair. Her eyes were flashing and she was trembling
from head to foot. Again I realized how weak and frail she was.

"You must understand," she repeated. "You MUST!"

"Yes, yes," I said hastily. "I think I--I suppose I understand your
feelings. But--"

"There are no buts. Don't pretend there are. Do you think for one
instant that I am begging, asking you for HELP? YOU--of all the world!"

This seemed personal eno