"Good-by, then," she said, "or rather, _au revoir_. We shall look in to-morrow. Come, Malcolm."

"I say, Mal!" cried Stephen, rising hurriedly. "You won't tell anyone about--"

"Steve!" interrupted his sister.

Malcolm, about to utter a languid sarcasm, caught his mother's look, and remained silent. Another meaning glance, and his manner changed.

"All right, Steve, old man," he said. "Good-by and good luck. Caroline, awfully glad we had the spin this afternoon. We must have more. Just what you and Steve need. At your service any time. If there is anything I can do in any way to--er--you understand--call on me, won't you?

Ready, Mater?"

The pair were shown out by Edwards. On the way home in the car Mrs.

Corcoran Dunn lectured her son severely.

"Have you no common sense?" she demanded. "Couldn't you see that the girl would have told me everything if you hadn't laughed, like an idiot?"

The young man laughed again.

"By Jove!" he exclaimed, "it was enough to make a wooden Indian laugh.

The old jay with the barnacles telling us about the advantages of a sailor's life. And Steve's face! Ho! ho!"

His mother snorted disgust. "If you had brains," she declared, "you would have understood what he meant by saying that the sea was the place to learn what to unlearn. He was. .h.i.tting at you. Was it necessary to insult him the first time you and he exchanged a word?"

"Insult him? _Him?_ Ha, ha! Why, Mater, what's the matter with you? Do you imagine that a hayseed like that would recognize an insult without an introduction? And, besides, what difference does it make? You don't intend putting him on your calling list, do you?"

"I intend cultivating him for the present."

"_Cultivating_ him?"

"Yes--for the present. He is Rodgers Warren's brother. That lawyer, Graves, traveled miles to see him. What does that mean? That, in some important way, he is connected with the estate and those two children.

If the estate is worth anything, and we have reason to believe it is, you and I must know it. If it isn't, it is even more important that we should know, before we waste more time. If Caroline is an heiress, if she inherits even a moderate fortune--"

She shrugged her shoulders by way of finish to the sentence.

Malcolm whistled.

"But to think of that old Down-Easter being related to the Warren family!" he mused. "It seems impossible."

"Nothing is impossible," observed his mother. Then, with a shudder, "You never met your father's relatives. I have."

When Captain Elisha emerged from his room, after a wash and a change of linen, he found the library untenanted. He strolled about, his hands behind him, inspecting the pictures with critical interest. Caroline, dressed for dinner, found him thus engaged. He turned at the sound of her step.

"Why, h.e.l.lo!" he cried, with hearty enthusiasm. "All rigged up for inspection, ain't you?"

"Inspection?"

"Oh, that's just sailor's lingo. Means you've got your Sunday uniform on, that's all. My! my! how nice you look! But ain't black pretty old for such a young girl?"

"I am in mourning," replied his niece, coldly.

"There! there! of course you are. Tut! tut! How could I forget it. You see, I've been so many years feelin' as if I didn't have a brother that I've sort of got used to his bein' gone."

"I have not." Her eyes filled as she said it. The captain was greatly moved.

"I'm a blunderin' old fool, my dear," he said. "I beg your pardon. Do try to forgive me, won't you? And, perhaps--perhaps I can make up your loss to you, just a little mite. I'd like to. I'll try to, if--"

He laid a hand on her shoulder. She avoided him and, moving away, seated herself in a chair at the opposite side of the desk. The avoidance was so obvious as to be almost brutal. Captain Elisha looked very grave for an instant. Then he changed the subject.

"I was lookin' at your oil paintin's," he said. "They're pretty fine, ain't they? Any of them your work, Caroline?"

"_My_ work?" The girl's astonishment was so great that she turned to stare at her questioner. "_My_ work?" she repeated. "Are you joking? You can't think that I painted them."

"I didn't know but you might. That one over there, with the trees and folks dancin'--sort of picnic scene, I judge--that looks as if you might have done it."

"That is a Corot."

"'Tis, hey? I want to know! A--a--what did you call it?"

"A Corot. He was a famous French artist. That was father's favorite picture."

"Sho! Well, I like it fust-rate myself. Did 'Bije--did your father know this Mr. Corot well?"

"Know him? Certainly not. Why should you think such a thing as that?"

"Well, he bought the picture of him, and so I s'pose likely he knew him.

There was a young feller come to South Denboro three or four year ago and offered to paint a picture of our place for fifteen dollars.

Abbie--that's Abbie Baker, she's one of our folks, you know, your third cousin, Caroline; keepin' house for me, she is--Abbie wanted me to have him do the job, but I wa'n't very particular about it, so it never come to nothin'. He done two or three places, though, and I swan 'twas nice work! He painted Sam Cahoon's old ramshackle house and barn, and you'd hardly know it, 'twas so fixed up and fine, in the picture. White paint and green gra.s.s and everything just like real. He left out the places where the pickets was off the fence and the blinds hangin' on one hinge.

I told Abbie, I says, 'Abbie, that painter's made Sam's place look almost respectable, and if that ain't a miracle, I don't know what is.

I would think Sam would blush every time he sees that picture.' Ho, ho!

Abbie seemed to cal'late that Sam Cahoon's blushin' would be the biggest miracle of the two. Ho! ho! You'd like Abbie; she's got lots of common sense."

He chuckled at the reminiscence and rubbed his knee. His niece made no reply. Captain Elisha glanced at the Corot once more and asked another question.

"I presume likely," he said, "that that picture cost consider'ble more than fifteen, hey?"

"Father paid twenty-two thousand dollars for it," was the crushing answer.

The captain looked at her, opened his mouth to speak, shut it again, and, rising, walked across the room. Adjusting his gla.s.ses, he inspected the Corot in silence for a few minutes. Then he drew a long breath.

"Well!" he sighed. "_Well_." Then, after an interval, "Was this the only one he ever painted?"

"The only one? The only picture Corot painted? Of course not! There are many more."

"Did--did this Corot feller get as much for every job as he did for this?"

"I presume so. I know father considered this one a bargain."