"Aubrey. You told his father. Why haven't you ever told me?" "Boodle-oodle," he quavered, "let me take your other boot off." "The boot can wait. Don't be unkind, daddy," she pleaded. "I've been worried dreadful to-day. Why did you tell Mr. Bellamie you are my grandfather, if you're not?" "I am," cried old Weevil. "Of course I am. I have been your grandfather for a long time, ever since you were born, but I wasn't going to tell you until you were twenty-one." "Why not? Why ever shouldn't I know? Are you ashamed of me?" At that the old man began to throw himself about and make horrible faces in the dark. "I expect you are," Boodles went on. "Mr. Bellamie is ashamed of me. He says I'm not well-born, and I have no name. Aubrey told me this afternoon." "The liar," cried old Weevil. Then he began to cackle in his own grotesque way. He couldn't help being amused at the idea that he should be calling Mr. Bellamie a liar. "How did he know? How did he find that out?" he muttered. "Nobody could have told him. He must have guessed it." "You are my grandfather," Boodles murmured. "Now you must tell me all about my father and mother. I've got to let Mr. Bellamie know," she went on innocently. "I told him. I told him the whole story," cried Weevil. "He sat in this room for an hour, and I gave him the whole history. What a forgetful man he must be. I will write it out and send it him." "Tell me," said Boodles. "How could you say that you picked me up on your doorstep, and never knew where I had come from?" "It's a long story, my darling. I don't fancy I can remember it now." The old man wondered where he had put that precious piece of paper. "Don't squeeze my foot so. Who was my mother? Do you really know who my mother was?" "Tita, we called her that for short, Katherine, Mary--no, that's you. I've got it all written down somewhere. I must tell her the same story. Shall I light the lamp and find it?" "You must remember. Are you my mother's father?" she asked impatiently. "Wait a moment, Boodle-oodle. These sudden questions confuse me so. Mr. Bellamie would know. I told him. Yes, it was your mother. Miss Lascelles was her name, and I married her in Switzerland. We stayed at that hotel where Gubbings wrote his history of the world, and we fell out of a boat on Lake Geneva, and she was never heard of again." "Where was I?" cried Boodles, knowing that impatience would only perplex him more. "You were not born, darling. It was a long time after that when you were born, and your father was Canon Lascelles of Hendon." "Dear old man, don't be so agitated," she said, putting out a hand to stroke his whiskers. "You are so puzzled you don't know what you are saying. How could my mother be drowned before I was born?" "No, no, darling, you misunderstand me. It was my wife who disappeared mysteriously, not your mother." "My mother was your daughter. That's one thing I want to know," said perplexed Boodles.