“You are ill,” I said, rising. “I will call someone.” That had the desired effect. My newly found third--or was it fourth or fifth--cousin made a move in protest. She fought down her emotion, her sobs ceased, and she leaned back in her chair looking paler and weaker than ever. I should have pitied her if she had not been so superior and insultingly scornful in her manner toward me. I--Well, yes, I did pity her, even as it was. “Don't,” she said, in her turn. “Don't call anyone. I am not ill--not now.” “But you have been,” I put in, I don't know why. “I have not been well for some time. But I am not ill. I am quite strong enough to hear what you have to say.” This might have been satisfactory if I had had anything to say. I had not. She evidently expected me to express repentance for something or other and make some sort of proposition. I was not repentant and I had no proposition to make. But how was I to tell her that without bringing on another storm? Oh, if I had had time to consider. If I had not come alone. If Hephzy,--cool-headed, sensible Hephzy--were only with me. “I--I--” I began. Then desperately: “I scarcely know what to say, Miss Morley,” I faltered. “I came here, as I told you, expecting to find a--a--” “What, pray?” with a haughty lift of the dark eyebrows. “What did you expect to find, may I ask?” “Nothing--that is, I--Well, never mind that. I came on the spur of the moment, immediately after receiving your letter. I have had no time to think, to consult my--your aunt--” “What has my--AUNT” with withering emphasis, “to do with it? Why should you consult her?” “Well, she is your mother's nearest relative, I suppose. She is Captain Cahoon's daughter and at least as much interested as I. I must consult her, of course. But, frankly, Miss Morley, I think I ought to tell you that you are under a misapprehension. There are matters which you don't understand.” “I understand everything. I understand only too well. What do you mean by a misapprehension? Do you mean--do you dare to insinuate that my father did not tell me the truth?” “Oh, no, no,” I interrupted. That was exactly what I did mean, but I was not going to let the shade of the departed Strickland appear again until I was out of that room and house. “I am not insinuating anything.” “I am very glad to hear it. I wish you to know that I perfectly understand EVERYTHING.” That seemed to settle it; at any rate it settled me for the time. I took up my hat. “Miss Morley,” I said, “I can't discuss this matter further just now. I must consult my cousin first. She and I will call upon you to-morrow at any hour you may name.” She was disappointed; that was plain. I thought for the moment that she was going to break down again. But she did not; she controlled her feelings and faced me firmly and pluckily. “At nine--no, at ten to-morrow, then,” she said. “I shall expect your final answer then.” “Very well.” “You will come? Of course; I am forgetting. You said you would.”