"Dr. Green, Basil Everman, Mrs. Lister's brother, about whom we have recently heard so much and of whom you and I spoke upon one occasion, was a good man, but he was a genius, and it is the common fate of geniuses to be misunderstood. They are often denied by their friends the possession of common and sometimes of moral sense. Basil wore flowing neckties at a period when neckties were small; he used well-selected words when the rest of mankind were indifferent to their speech; he drew sometimes a parallel from the classics--consequently Waltonville thought him queer. You know Waltonville's attitude of mind?" "Perfectly." "But he did worse, he did not always come to meals on time, or go, candle in hand, in solemn procession to bed when the rest of the family went, old Dr. Everman in his white stock, Mary Alcestis looking tearfully back over her shoulder, hoping in terror that Basil might at that moment be heard on the porch. They attributed to him strange motives and stranger acts. They watched him, were embarrassed for him, apologized for him. They thought of him, in moments of unusual charity, as not quite sound. They thought in other moments a good deal worse of him. Basing their opinion on stupid coincidences, they blamed upon him actual crimes. They did not wish to believe these things of Basil. Over what she really believes is true, Mrs. Lister has been for many years breaking her heart. It is that which ails her, and not the heat." "How foolish!" said Dr. Green, leaning back in his chair. "Let the past bury its dead. Middle life, you see, with no mental exercise. How very foolish!" "But the dead aren't buried, they are in our midst, and as long as Eleanor Bent is in sight, Mrs. Lister must worry her heart out." "Eleanor Bent!" repeated Dr. Green, bending forward once more. "What has she to do with it?" Thomasina looked down at the floor. She hesitated; perhaps remembering at this moment that she had never before betrayed the confidence of a friend. Perhaps it was because she had a sickening conviction that her whole course in this matter was that of a fool. "The Listers have imagined--at least Mrs. Lister has from these stupid coincidences--has imagined it for years, weeping over it in secret--that Eleanor Bent is her brother Basil's daughter." "Extraordinary!" said Dr. Green slowly. "Does any one else have this notion?" "I think not. Basil was as much forgotten as though he had never been born." "What are these coincidences?" "Mrs. Lister saw the two together, followed them, indeed, and says that Margie Ginter was clinging to Basil's arm and pleading with him and crying. In the second place, he went away from Waltonville about the time that the Ginters went. In the third, Eleanor has in Mrs. Lister's eyes a strong resemblance to him. Then there is this writing." "Writing?" queried Dr. Green. "Yes, Eleanor's writing. What is more likely than that she should have inherited talent from Basil Everman?"