For once in his life Rodney was taken by surprise. His researches into his uncle's affairs had been confined to their commercial side. He knew practically nothing of his private life. He had never heard it spoken of, and had asked no questions. He had a vague idea that his uncle was a bachelor. He knew that he lived in rooms, and--accidentally--had learnt that he had relations with certain ladies of a kind which one does not associate with a family man. That he had ever had a wife and, still less, a daughter he had never guessed. Even in the midst of his surprise he reproached himself for his stupidity that such an important point should have escaped him! As he regarded the girl in front of him he perceived that she was her father's child. She was about his height, he being short and fat. One day, if appearances were not misleading, she also would be plump. Already she had something of her father's rubicund countenance; her cheeks were red, even a trifle blotchy. She had dark hair and eyes, both her mouth and nose were a little too big. Yet he did not find her disagreeable to look at. On the contrary, there was something about her which appealed to him, just as he was conscious that there was something about him which appealed to her. Where a girl was concerned it was strange how some subtle instinct told him these things. He was moved to audacity. "If you're my cousin, oughtn't I to kiss you?" Her eyes lit up. Her lips parted, showing her beautiful teeth; if they were a little large, they were very white and even. "As I've had no experience of cousins, how can I say?" "I shouldn't like you to feel that I'm beginning by evading what, for aught either of us can tell, might be my duty." Stooping, he kissed her on the mouth. Though it was little more than a butterfly's kiss, her lips seemed to meet his with a gentle pressure which he found agreeable. "You are a cousin!" she exclaimed. "I'm glad you are," he replied. "Didn't you really know you had a cousin?" He shook his head. "Nor I; isn't it queer? I only found it out the other day by the merest accident; in some respects dad is the most secretive person. I've been abroad for the last five years. How old do you think I am?" There was a frankness, a friendliness about this cousin which amused him. In that sense she could not have been more unlike her sire. "Twenty-two." "I'm twenty-five--isn't it awful? How old are you?" "I regret to say that I am only twenty-three. I'm afraid you'll regard me as only a kid."