“The brute!” ejaculated Katherine, which remark brought upon her a mild rebuke from her mother on intemperance of language. “Well, go on,” said Katherine, unabashed. “I merely mention this detail,” continued Dorothy, “as an object lesson in honesty. Never before since the world began was there such a case of casting bread upon the waters as was my sending the two hundred dollars. My uncle appears to have been a most methodical man. He filed away my letter which contained the money, also a typewritten copy of his reply, and when he died, it was these documents which turned the attention of the legal arm who acted for him to myself, for my uncle had left no will. The Californian firm communicated with lawyers in New York, and they began a series of very cautious inquiries, which at last resulted, after I had furnished certain proofs asked for, in my being declared heiress to my uncle’s estate.” “And how much did you get? How much did you get?” demanded Katherine. “I asked the lawyers from New York to deposit ten thousand dollars for me in the Sixth National Bank of this town, and they did so. It was to draw a little check against that deposit, and thus learn if it was real, that I went out to-day.” “Ten thousand dollars,” murmured Katherine, in accents of deep disappointment. “Is that all?” “Isn’t that enough?” asked Dorothy, with a twinkle in her eyes. “No, you deserve ten times as much, and I’m not going to New York or Boston at your expense to buy new dresses. Not likely! I will attend the ball in my calico.” Dorothy laughed quietly, and drew from the little satchel she wore at her side a letter, which she handed to Katherine. “It’s private and confidential,” she warned her friend. “Oh, I won’t tell any one,” said Katherine, unfolding it. She read eagerly half-way down the page, then sprang to her feet on the top of the table, screaming: “Fifteen million dollars! Fifteen million dollars!” and, swinging her arms back and forth like an athlete about to leap, sprang to the floor, nearly upsetting the little table, tray and all, as she embraced Dorothy Amhurst. “Fifteen millions! That’s something like! Why, mother, do you realize that we have under our roof one of the richest young women in the world? Don’t you see that the rest of this conference must take place in our drawing-room under the most solemn auspices? The idea of our keeping such an heiress in the attic!” “I believe,” said Sabina, slowly and coldly, “that Mr. Rockefeller’s income is--” “Oh, blow Mr. Rockefeller and his income!” cried the indignant younger sister. “Katherine!” pleaded the mother tearfully. CHAPTER III --ON DECK