"He’s paid a thumping big salary! He makes money out of charity. Why shouldn’t he be interested?" "But he publishes religious books——" "Of course. They sell. It’s a great graft, Cleland. Don’t publish novels if you want to make money; print Bibles!" "Is that a fact?" "You bet! There are more parasites in pulpit, publishing house and charity concerns, who live exclusively by exploiting God, than there were unpleasant afflictions upon the epidermis of our late friend, Job. And Chiltern Grismer is one of them—the old skinflint!—hogging his only sister’s share of the Grismer money and scared stiff for fear some descendant might reopen the claim and fight the verdict which beggared his own sister!" "By Gad!" exclaimed Cleland, very red; "I’ve a mind to look into it and start proceedings again if there is any ground——" "You can’t." "Why?" "Not if you adopt this child." "Not in her behalf?" "Your motives would be uncharitably suspected, Cleland. You can give her enough. Besides, you don’t want to stir up anything—rattle any skeletons—for this little girl’s sake." "No, of course not. You’re quite right, Brinton. No money could compensate her. And, as you say, I am able to provide for her amply." "Besides," said Brinton, "there’s the paternal aunt, Miss Rosalinda Quest. She’s as rich as mud. It may be that she’ll do something for the child." "I don’t want her to," exclaimed Cleland angrily. "If she’ll make no objection to my taking the girl, she can keep her money and leave it to the niggers of Senegambia when she dies, for all I care! Fix it for me, Brinton." "You’d better go down to Bayport and interview her yourself," said the lawyer. "And, by the way, I hear she’s a queer one—something of a bird, in fact." "Bird?" "Well, a vixen. They say so. All the same, she’s doing a lot of real good with her money." "How do you mean?" "She’s established a sort of home for the offspring of vicious and degenerate parents. It’s really quite a wonderful combination of clinic and training school where suspected or plainly defective children are brought to be taught and to remain under observation—really a finely conceived charity, I understand. Why not call on her?" "Very well," said Cleland, reluctantly, not caring very much about encountering "vixens" and "birds" of the female persuasion. Except for this paternal aunt and the Grismers, there turned out to be no living human being related to the child Stephanie. Once assured of this, John Cleland undertook the journey to Bayport, running down in his car one morning, and determined that a combination of mild dignity and gallant urbanity should conquer any untoward symptoms which this "bird" might develop. When he arrived at the entrance to the place, a nurse on duty gave him proper directions how to find Miss Quest, who was out about the grounds somewhere.