ed, largely, I think,
from newspapers and novels. He was convinced that most Americans were
confirmed neurotics and dyspeptics, just as Hephzy had believed all
Englishmen wore side-whiskers.

I changed the conversation as soon as I could. I could tell him
so little concerning my newly found "niece." I knew about as much
concerning her life as he did. It is distinctly unpleasant to be uncle
to someone you know nothing at all about. I devoutly wished I had not
said she was my niece. I repeated that wish many times afterward.

Miss Morley's talk with the physician had definite results, surprising
results. Following that talk she sent word by the doctor that she wished
to see Hephzy and me. We went into her room. She was sitting in a chair
by the window, and was wearing a rather pretty wrapper, or kimono, or
whatever that sort of garment is called. At any rate, it was becoming. I
was obliged to admit that the general opinion expressed by the Jamesons
and Hephzy and the doctor--that she was pretty, was correct enough. She
was pretty, but that did not help matters any.

She asked us--no, she commanded us to sit down. Her manner was decidedly
business-like. She wasted no time in preliminaries, but came straight to
the point, and that point was the one which I had dreaded. She asked us
what decision we had reached concerning her.

"Have you decided what your offer is to be?" she asked.

I looked at Hephzy and she at me. Neither of us derived comfort from
the exchange of looks. However, something must be done, or said, and I
braced myself to say it.

"Miss Morley," I began, "before I answer that question I should like to
ask you one. What do you expect us to do?"

She regarded me coldly. "I expect," she said, "that you and this--that
you and Miss Cahoon will arrange to pay me the money which was my
mother's and which my grandfather should have turned over to her while
he lived."

Again I looked at Hephzy and again I braced myself for the scene which I
was certain would follow.

"It is your impression then," I said, "that your mother had money of her
own and that Captain Barnabas, your grandfather, kept that money for his
own use."

"It is not an impression," haughtily; "I know it to be a fact."

"How do you know it?"

"My father told me so, during his last illness."

"Was--pardon me--was your father himself at the time? Was
he--er--rational?"

"Rational! My father?"

"I mean--I mean was he himself--mentally?