I should have hated to trust even my worst enemy--if I had one--to Mrs. Briggs' “kind heart.” I walked off in disgust. I found a cab at the next corner and, bidding the driver take me to Bancroft's, threw myself back on the cushions. This was a lovely mess! This was a beautiful climax to the first act--no, merely the prologue--of the drama of Hephzy's and my pilgrimage. What would Jim Campbell say to this? I was to be absolutely care-free; I was not to worry about myself or anyone else. That was the essential part of his famous “prescription.” And now, here I was, with this impossible situation and more impossible young woman on my hands. If Little Frank had been a boy, a healthy boy, it would be bad enough. But Little Frank was a girl--a sick girl, without a penny. And a girl thoroughly convinced that she was the rightful heir to goodness knows how much wealth--wealth of which we, the uncivilized, unprincipled natives of an unprincipled, uncivilized country, had robbed her parents and herself. Little Frank had been a dream before; now he--she, I mean--was a nightmare; worse than that, for one wakes from a nightmare. And I was on my way to tell Hephzy! Well, I told her. She was in our sitting-room when I reached the hotel and I told her the whole story. I began by reading the letter. Before she had recovered from the shock of the reading, I told her that I had actually met and talked with Little Frank; and while this astounding bit of news was, so to speak, soaking into her bewildered brain, I went on to impart the crowning item of information--namely, that Little Frank was Miss Frances. Then I sat back and awaited what might follow. Her first coherent remark was one which I had not expected--and I had expected almost anything. “Oh, Hosy,” gasped Hephzy, “tell me--tell me before you say anything else. Does he--she, I mean--look like Ardelia?” “Eh? What?” I stammered. “Look like--look like what?” “Not what--who. Does she look like Ardelia? Like her mother? Oh, I HOPE she doesn't favor her father's side! I did so want our Little Frank to look like his--her--I CAN'T get used to it--like my poor Ardelia. Does she?” “Goodness knows! I don't know who she looks like. I didn't notice.” “You didn't! I should have noticed that before anything else. What kind of a girl is she? Is she pretty?” “I don't know. She isn't ugly, I should say. I wasn't particularly interested in her looks. The fact that she was at all was enough; I haven't gotten over that yet. What are we going to do with her? Or are we going to do anything? Those are the questions I should like to have answered. For heaven's sake, Hephzy, don't talk about her personal appearance. There she is and here are we. What are we going to do?” Hephzy shook her head. “I don't know, Hosy,” she admitted. “I don't know, I'm sure. This is--this is--Oh, didn't I tell you we were SENT--sent by Providence!”