“Let me hasten to avert this woful catastrophe,” cried Vestalia. “The matter is simplicity itself. I am by profession, trade, whatever you call it, a tracer of pedigrees, genealogies. I served my apprenticeship under an American lady, who worked entirely for American customers. She is dead now, and the business is broken up, and I have been idle for a long time. When I saw your father and heard his name, a thought occurred to me. I know a good deal about the Skinners in England.” “Papa was born in England himself, you know,” interposed Adele, with rising interest. “Yes, I know,” Vestalia went on. “As I said, I have exceptional sources of information about the family, and it occurred to me that very likely he would be glad to have the records searched, and a full pedigree drawn up. I wrote to him, accordingly--he had mentioned this hotel--and I came and saw him downstairs in the reception-room, and he seemed delighted with the idea, and gave me a commission at once. What was more important still, he was kind enough to pay me something in advance. It came just at the moment to--to supply a very urgent want, too, I can tell you.” “Ah, poor girl!” said Adele, tenderly. “But why on earth were you afraid that _I_ should know? I don’t believe your story about the hair, you know.” “Really it _was_ that,” protested Vestalia. “I could see that you didn’t like me. I _was_ afraid of you--that is, of your prejudicing your father against me. And if you only knew how desperately I was in need of the job! Don’t you remember, you did look very sharply at me.” “If I did, it was because I was surprised to--to--see who you were with.” “How do you mean?” queried Vestalia, puzzled. “We were both entire strangers to you, surely.” “No. I recognised the gentleman from a picture I had seen of him. I had a kind of idea that he was not precisely a nice gentleman for you to be with.” “Then you had a preposterous and wickedly mistaken kind of idea,” said Vestalia, with decision. “There isn’t a truer or nobler-spirited gentleman on this earth than he is. I have reason to know what I say. If anybody has told you otherwise, you have been lied to, that’s all.” “Dear, dear, how much you are in earnest,” cried Adele. “You must be _my_ friend, and defend me behind my back like that, too. If he liked your hair immensely, why, so do I.” “Don’t let us joke about him,” put in Vestalia, with seriousness. “I feel very keenly about my obligation to him. He saved my life--and--and I’d rather talk about something else. We were speaking of the Skinners--and their pedigree.” Adele assented, with an inclination of the head, to the diversion, though her eyes retained their gleam of surprised curiosity. “Yes, the Skinners,” she said, vaguely.