"It's been droll," she began, "I have been trying all day to make persons understand that it's my house. I can't make anybody believe me, not the tailor's missus, nor the rent collector nor the 'receiver for the estate,'" her drawling imitation of the redoubtable Mr. Grady made the Justice smile. "Oh, you've talked with that scamp, have you?" he flung the door open and pulled out a chair for her. "I've talked with a great many--scamps"--she caught at new words as delightedly as though they had been new flowers, and he laughed again. She was too absurd, this grotesquely garbed old maid! "I haven't found the Portia Person--" a note of gravity crept into her voice again, "but I'm going to do without him--I have a plan"--she leaned forward excitedly, "I thought it out--it's as good as the pattern of the garden--the reason you have to make me pay fifty dollars for-- violating that Tenement Law is because there are too many persons in my house, isn't that it?" He nodded. "Then," she decided triumphantly, "it's quite simple. We must just put them out!" "Miss Daniel come to judgment!" he congratulated her. They talked quite seriously then. The matter of identification was not really droll, for there was literally no one to vouch for Felicia Day. He found it difficult to explain to her that while he did not in the least doubt her assertion that she was Felicia Day she would have to prove, legally, that she was. If the "receiver for the estate" could find any of the papers that Felicia had signed for Mr. Burrel of course her signature would help, (he called a stenographer and wrote for a letter from the country doctor,) he explained regretfully that until she could prove that she was the person she claimed to be she could not actually take possession of the house. "Then you can't 'actually' make me pay anything--those fines or taxes, until you prove that I'm the person who owes them--" She came back at him so quickly that she took his breath away. "Again Miss Daniel comes to judgment!" he teased her. She put him in an extraordinary good humor with her alertness. Her persistence and her indomitable courage were such futile weapons against the armor of the law that they seemed pathetic, but her droll faith in herself and her absurd comments about the persons with whom she had been talking made him want to laugh as one laughs at a precocious child. She left as abruptly as she had come, tucking Babiche under her arm in a deliciously matter-of-fact way. "Good morning, Miss Day," he called after her. She paused, she blushed furiously, she had forgotten Mademoiselle's manners. But she made up for it. She dropped him the most amusing curtsy with an upward glance like that of the one-eyed scrub woman who had been cleaning the corridor.