"You have a glorious view," said the visitor, turning his back upon art that was degraded and rejoicing in that which was natural. "I have been admiring it all the way up from the station. But you must get the wind in the winter time." "Yes, a great deal of it. But it is very fine and healthy, and we have our windows open most days. Tita insists upon it." "Tita?" questioned Mr. Bellamie, turning and looking puzzled. "I understood that--" "Her name is not Boodles," said Weevil decidedly. "That is only a pet name I gave her when she was a baby, and I have never been able to break myself of it. She is my grand-daughter, Mr. Bellamie, and her name is Titania Katherine Mary Fitzalan-Lascelles," he said, reading carefully from the manuscript. "I think she must have inherited her love of open windows and fresh air from her father, who was the Reverend Henry--no, I mean Harold Lascelles, second son of the Reverend Henry Arthur Lascelles--the late, I should have said--sometime Director of St. Michael's, Cornhill, and minor canon--no, honorary--honorary canon of St. Paul's Cathedral. He was rather delicate and lived in Switzerland a good deal, and died there--no, he didn't, that was Tita's mother. He is in charge of a Catholic mission in British Guiana." Polite astonishment was upon every feature of the visitor's fragile face. He had not come there to talk about Boodles, but to see Weevil and Lewside Cottage, that he might judge for himself whether the girl could by any chance be considered a suitable subject for Aubrey's adoration; to look at the pictures, and make a few conventional remarks upon the view and the weather; then to return home and report to his wife. He had certainly not expected to find Weevil bubbling over with family history, pedigrees, and social intelligence, regarding the child whom he had been led to suppose was not related to him. Mr. Bellamie glanced at Weevil's excited face, at the pencil he held in one hand and at the sheet of paper in the other; and just then he didn't know what to think. Then he said quietly: "I will sit down if I may. That long hill from the station was rather an ordeal. As you have mentioned your--your grand-daughter, I believe you said, you will, I hope, forgive me if I express a little surprise, as the girl--and a very pretty and charming girl she is--came to see us one day, and on that occasion she distinctly mentioned that she knew nothing of her parents." Mr. Bellamie would have murmured on in his gentle brook-like way, but Weevil could not suppress himself. While the visitor was speaking he made noises like a soda-water bottle which is about to eject its cork; and at the first opportunity he exploded, and his lying words and broken bits of story flew all about the room. "Quite true, Mr. Bellamie. Boodles--I mean Tita--was telling you the truth. I have never known her to do the contrary. She has been told nothing whatever of her parents, does not know that her daughter was my mother--"