"Almost a year," gulped the little man, looking up through streaming eyes. "Her mother died when Kathie was about a year old. The father never saw his child. He had deceived the woman. He cast her off and--married another, I take it, although I am a bit hazy. I was so upset that I--I scarcely remember what the man said. Now the--the father wants to find his child. He--he wants to give her a home--Oh, Lordy, Lordy! I can't bear the thought of it. Sh! Don't cry, Mary. Maybe he'll let us keep her. He is married. Perhaps he can't afford to acknowledge her as his child under the circumstances. I--I put it up to the detective. He actually grinned in my face and said he was quite positive his client would be as sensible as most men have to be in similar straits." "Are you sure that Kathleen is the one he is looking for, Mr. Bingle?" inquired Mrs. Force. "They sometimes follow false clues, or something of the sort. I once heard of a detective who--" "No such luck," groaned Mr. Bingle. "He has Kathie's history from the day she was born. There--there isn't any chance for a mistake. She is the one. Our eldest, our loveliest--Oh, Mary!" Force shot an unmistakable look of alarm at the newspaper man who stood in the doorway, staring out into the hall. "Do you know the mother's name, Bingle?" he inquired. His voice sounded so strange and unnatural that his wife glanced at him sharply. "Yes. I know her real name. On the records at the hospital she was known as Mrs. Hinman. But, you see, she wasn't married. Her name was Glenn." Sydney Force's face was bloodless. CHAPTER VIII THE AFFAIRS OF AMY AND DICK The affairs of Amy Fairweather and Richard Flanders require explanation. When two good-looking young people meet as these two met, and betray such surprising emotion, it goes without saying that at least one episode in their joint history deserves the undivided attention of the onlooker, who, in this case, happens to be you, kind reader. It must be perfectly clear to you that Miss Fairweather and Mr. Flanders were, at one time in their lives, more than moderately interested in each other. That part of their story does not require elucidation. Indeed, only an intelligence of the most extraordinary denseness would demand the bald, matter-of-fact declaration that they had been in love with each other. What we are concerned about, therefore, is an episode of the early spring in the present year of our story.