zen dads. Tell me about your uncle.
He died?"

"We don't know. He went abroad fifteen years ago. He must be dead I
think, because if he were alive he would certainly have written to us.
He was very fond of Joyce and me; but no letter from him has reached us
for years. He was charming. I wish you could have known him."

"So do I--if you wish it. But--" coming over and sitting down beside
her, "don't you think it is a little absurd, Barbara, after all these
years, to think it necessary to tell me that you have good blood in your
veins? Is it not a self-evident fact; and--one more word dearest--surely
you might do me the credit to understand that I could never have fallen
in love with anyone who hadn't an ancestor or two."

"And yet your father----"

"I know," rising to his feet, his brow darkening. "Do you think I don't
suffer doubly on your account? That I don't feel the insolence of his
behavior toward you _four-fold_? There is but one excuse for him and my
mother, and that lies in their terrible disappointment about my
brother--their eldest son."

"I know; you have told me," begins she quickly, but he interrupts her.

"Yes, I have been more open with you than you with me. _I_ feel no pride
where you are concerned. Of course my brother's conduct towards them is
no excuse for their conduct towards you, but when one has a sore heart
one is apt to be unjust, and many other things. You know what a
heart-break he has been to the old people, _and is_! A gambler, a
dishonorable gambler!" He turns away from her, and his nostrils dilate a
little; his right hand grows clenched. "Every spare penny they possess
has been paid over to him of his creditors, and they are not
over-burdened with riches. They had set their hearts on him, and all
their hopes, and when he failed them they fell back on me. The name is
an old one; money was wanted. They had arranged a marriage for me, that
would have been worldly wise. I _too_ disappointed them!"

"Oh!" she has sprung to her feet, and is staring at him with horrified
eyes. "A marriage! There was someone else! You accuse me of want of
candor, and now, you--did you ever mention this before?"

"Now, Barbara, don't be the baby your name implies," says he, placing
her firmly back in her seat. "I _didn't_ marry that heiress, you know,
which is proof positive that I loved you, not her."

"But she--she--" she stammers and ceases suddenly, looking at him with a
glance full of question. Woman