"That was the sudden conclusion of which I spoke to you," explained Diana. "Such things come to me instinctively. I thought to myself, ’If he mentions the kinship between us, then we’ll ask him to remain.’ And you did. And we do ask you; don’t we, Silvie?" "Certainly. If two old maids wish to entertain their masculine cousin for a week or two, whose affair is it? Let Mrs. Grundy shriek; I don’t care. Do you, Diane?" "No, I don’t. Besides," she added naïvely, "she’s out of town." They all laughed. The germ of a delightful understanding was beginning to take shape; it had already become nascent and was developing in every frank smile, every candid glance, every unembarrassed question and reply. "We have no parents," said Diana gravely. "You have none, have you?" "No," he said. "Then it seems natural to me, our being here together; but"—and Diana glanced sideways at him—"in the East, I believe, people consider relationship of little or no importance." He sipped his sherry, reflecting. "As a rule," he said; "but"—and he laughed—"if any Easterner even suspected he had two such California cousins, he’d start for the Pacific coast without his breakfast!" "Did you ever hear anything half as amiable?" asked Silvette, laughing. "I never did," replied Diana; "especially as we’re probably his twenty-second cousins." "That distance may lend an enchantment to the obligations of kinship!" he said gayly. Diana looked up, grave as a youthful Japanese goddess. "You don’t mean that, do you?" "No, I don’t," he said, reddening. "If I did, the janitor ought to throw me out." Silvette nodded seriously. "We know you said it in joke; but the only straw to float Diane’s idea is our kinship, Mr. Edgerton. And we grasped at it—for your sake." "Please cling to it for your own sakes," too, he said, also very serious now; "it may become a plank to float us all.... I realize the point you are straining out of kindness to me. If I accept shelter here for a day or two, I shall know very well what it costs you to offer it." "It doesn’t cost us anything," interrupted Diana hastily. "Silvette meant only that you should understand why our consciences and common sense sanction your remaining if we remain." "_You_ must remain anyway!" he said. "So must you, cousin," said Silvette, laughing. "Anyway, you’ve probably sent your trunks here—haven’t you?" "By jinks! I forgot that!" he exclaimed. "I believe that racket on the stairs means that my trunks are arriving!" It did mean exactly that. And when Edgerton went out to the landing he encountered two expressmen staggering under the luggage, and, behind them, the terrified janitor who had returned, and who, on the advent of the baggage, had hurried upstairs to summarily evict the illegal lodgers before Edgerton’s arrival.