“Thank you again,” he said. “You don’t often find people willing to express a good opinion of one. Bad points--mistakes, _they’re_ mentioned fast enough----” “Don’t I _know_!” she cried, grasping his huge paw. “Now!” said he, still beaming, “You’ll come home with me and see Minnie, won’t you?” “Minnie! Here?” “I forgot you didn’t know. I’m married to Minnie.” Frankie’s face turned quite white. “But--married to Minnie! But ... I thought--Mr. Naylor ...?” “He died,” said Mr. Petersen. He knew nothing about Frankie’s connection with the dead man, or he wouldn’t have been so unconcerned. As it was, he was distressed at the change that came over her face. It was quite distorted for a minute, with grief, with anguish, with a terrible resentment. “Died!” she repeated. “I didn’t know!” He saw that there was something in this unknown to him. He kept silent. “And then she married you. Soon after, I suppose?” “I don’t know,” he had to answer. “I never asked her.” She looked squarely into Mr. Petersen’s eyes. “I was engaged to him once,” she said, “until Minnie took him away from me.” She was still for a moment. “I ought not to talk like this to you,” she went on. “It’s not fair. Only ... I thought I’d got over it ... and all the time, it ... was there. I ... feel so--_cheated_!” Her fine mouth quivered. Mr. Petersen rose. “Come,” he said, kindly. “Come home with me now and see Minnie. Perhaps she’ll have something to say to you.” “I couldn’t. I couldn’t _speak_ to Minnie.” “I’m sure you could,” he answered. “I wish you’d try. Give her a chance to explain. Perhaps there’s a misunderstanding. And even if there isn’t, you’re ... I’m sure you’re able to come. Please!” She got up with a sigh. “I might as well,” she said, “one can’t go on forever being cynical. It’s all over, long ago.” They went out together on to the Main Street, busier, more prosperous now, but still familiar to her. She walked by his side, with her fine, free stride, so very different from Minnie’s anxious bobbing. They passed the Eagle House and turned the corner. “Oh!” cried Mr. Petersen, suddenly. “There’s a piece of good news too. Your brother is with us.” “I haven’t any brother,” said Frances. “Your brother who was in England.” “But I never had a brother!” “Your brother Alec!” he said, quite loudly. “I never knew anyone called Alec in my life.” Mr. Petersen stopped short and grasped her arm. “Please, Miss Defoe,” he said, “try to recollect your brother. It--it’s very important!” She looked at him with a puzzled frown. “I’m sorry, but I never had a brother. Minnie and I were the only children. What made you----?” He looked terribly shocked. He couldn’t go on, but remained stock still in the street, wiping his brow with an enormous handkerchief. “Of course,” he said, in a stunned sort of voice, “it’s some--some kind of--misunderstanding. We’ll soon clear it up. Nothing to _worry_ over.”