"My father was proud of the old family connection," continued Miss Graeme, after a little pause, "and at one time he even contemplated changing his patronymic, and so becoming actually Hildebrand of the 'Hundred,' But he never quite got to the legal process, or perhaps he then heard of you and that served to divert the current of his thoughts. When was it that he hunted you up in Philadelphia?" "It was in March." "He liked you certainly, and he was most anxious to have you visit us at the 'Hundred.' You were to come in the early part of June, I think." "Yes, but that was the week of my college reunion, and I had to decline. I wrote that I would accept for a later date--any time in July." "I remember his being very much disappointed. But he must have made up his mind finally about that time, for the will is dated May 20, a little over a month ago. I dare say he was anxious to tell you of his wishes in the matter." "It's rather extraordinary, you'll admit. A man whom I had met but once!" "Well if one belongs at all, you know it. I think I can guess what was in his mind; something like this: 'Hildebrand Hundred' ought to go back to the direct heirs, and it was a choice between you and John Thaneford. Only you were you, and a real Hildebrand besides. So there you are." "You mean that I must accept, or let everything go to the younger Thaneford?" "I'm not a lawyer, but I think it would be that way. He is related by blood, and as my father had no children of his own there are no direct heirs." A sudden thought presented itself. "How would _you_ like it settled?" I asked, audaciously. "I think that you ought to carry out my father's wishes," she answered, with a simplicity that made me a little ashamed of my disingenuous attempt to inject a purely personal note into the discussion; for the moment I had quite forgotten that this was a house of mourning. Miss Graeme had risen, and I realized that the interview was at an end. "You will want to go to your room," she said, as we walked out to the entrance hall, our footsteps resounding hollowly upon its marble pavement of alternate white-and-black chequers. She clapped her hands, and a young negro servant presented himself. "Mr. Hildebrand is to have the red room, Marcus," explained Miss Graeme. "Dinner is at seven," she went on. "You won't mind if Eunice and I don't come down. You can have your own meal served in your room, if you prefer." "But there is Mr. Thaneford," I suggested. "Also Doctor Marcy." My cousin Betty frowned. "I suppose they are our guests," she admitted, and I experienced an odd thrill at the feeling of intimacy expressed in that little word, "our." "I think I had better do the honors in the dining room," I went on. "I wish you would, then." She stopped at the lower step of the staircase, and held out her hand. "Good night, Cousin Hugh."