“What was the quarrel about?” repeated the old woman. “Why it was about family matters, of course. What else do people quarrel about?” “But can’t you remember what sort of family matters they were?” persisted Bruce. “No, sir, I cannot,” rejoined the old woman, with a look of fox-like cunning on her face; “and if I could I’d not be talking about it either. What right have I, who was a servant in the family of Mr. Van Kuren, and of his wife that’s dead and gone—may the Lord have mercy on her soul—this ten year come next January, what right have I to be gossiping with the likes of you about their private matters? No, young man, ye’ll get nothing out of Ann Crehan about the Van Kurens, or the Dexters, or any other of the rale quality that we had in thim days when I went out to service.” [Illustration: She seemed to be nearly a hundred years old, and she was certainly very deaf.—_Page 98._] For half an hour Bruce vainly endeavored to elicit from the old woman some facts regarding the history of the Dexter family. Sometimes she seemed on the point of telling something, and then the old look of cunning would come back to her wrinkled face, and she would shake her head and chuckle, declaring that she knew her place and nothing could induce her to gossip about her old master or his family affairs. He even went so far as to ask her if she remembered a tall, dark bearded man with a scar across his chin, who used to visit the family, occasionally, but at this inquiry the old woman became very angry and declared that he was an impertinent young spalpeen to come into a decent body’s house and attempt to pry into matters that did not concern him. She said, moreover, that she was going to tell Mr. Dexter himself, the next time he came to see her—“and he might be here any minute,” she added—and the boy on hearing this threat, departed with much speed, and slunk cautiously along the street, looking on every side for Mr. Samuel Dexter. Charley Weyman told Bruce that he had read in a “Complete Handbook of Etiquette” that it was ordained by the leaders of fashion that any one entertained at a dinner party should make what is known as a “dinner call” within a week or ten days after the dinner. Therefore he advised the young boy to present himself at the Van Kuren mansion some afternoon, in acknowledgment of the courtesy which had been shown him. Bruce, who had been trying for three days to contrive some plausible pretext for going up to that part of the town again, was only too glad to hear this, and that very afternoon, having first secured Mr. Trask’s permission, he made himself as neat as he possibly could, and started on the elevated train.