"Mrs. Jane Rowan," Edith replied, laying her hand on the widow's lap. He bowed, taking this for an introduction, a cold but courteous bow. "May I ask, madam," he inquired, "what claim you have on this child?" Mrs. Rowan had shown some agitation while this conversation was going on, and when Edith put out her hand, she grasped it as if meaning to hold on to the child. Her reply was made in a somewhat defiant tone. "When Mrs. Robert Yorke died, she asked me to have pity on her daughter, and keep her out of the poor-house. I have taken care of her ever since. The Yorkes had turned them off." The gentleman drew himself up, and put out his under lip. "Thank you for the information," he said bitterly. Then to Edith, "Come, child," and took her hand. She allowed him to lead her across the room to his wife. "Mrs. Yorke," he said, "this is my brother Robert's orphan child!" There was a slight sensation and a momentary pause; but the lady recovered immediately. "I am glad to see you, dear," she said in a kind voice. "Who is that person?" she added to her husband, glancing at Mrs. Rowan. The widow was staring at them angrily, and seemed on the point of coming to take Edith away by force. "One who has taken care of the child since her mother's death, Amy," he answered. "She has no claim on my niece, and will, of course, give her up to us. The little girl is named for my mother. Robert was always fond of mother." There was a pause of embarrassed silence. "You must perceive that there is no other way," Mr. Yorke continued with some state. "Aside from natural affection and pity for the child's friendless condition, an Edith Yorke must not be allowed to go about the country like a Gypsy with a shawl over her head." "It is just as papa says," Melicent interposed, and immediately took Edith by the hand and kissed her cheek. "You are my little cousin, and you will go home and live with us," she said sweetly. Miss Yorke's manner was very conciliating; but her suavity proceeded less from real sweetness than from self-complacency. She prided herself on knowing and always doing what was _comme il faut_, and took great pleasure in being the mould of form. "I shall go with Dick! I am going to live with Dick!" Edith cried, snatching her hand away. A blush of alarm overspread her face, and she looked round in search of her protector. At that moment he appeared in the door, paused in surprise at seeing where Edith was, then went to his mother. "The Yorkes have got her," Mrs. Rowan said to him, breathless with excitement. "That is Mr. Charles Yorke. I knew him the moment I set eyes on him." Dick wheeled about and faced them. Edith, too proud to run away, looked at him imploringly.