Uncle William’s mouth opened and closed once or twice with a little puff. When they reached the foot of the stairs he broke out. “He says he’s a Curie.” He flipped the card in his hand. “I’ve known Arichat, man and boy, for sixty year. The’ wa’n’t never any Curies there.” She looked up at him a little perplexed. “Couldn’t you have forgotten?” Uncle William shook his head. “I wish ’t I had. You set a good deal o’ store by him, I can see. But I ain’t likely to forget anybody that’s been brought up there. The’ _was_ suthin’ kind o’ familiar about him, too.” He said it almost irascibly. The girl sighed softly. “Well, he may have been romancing. Frenchmen do--at times--” “I call it lying,” snorted Uncle William. “Yes, yes.” She patted his arm. “But can’t you understand how you would feel if you saw something beautiful--some place that made you feel the way you used to feel when you were a child? You might think for a moment that you had really been there, and say it--without meaning to tell a lie. That’s what I meant.” Uncle William looked down at her admiringly. “You do put that mighty nice, don’t you? You ’most make me believe I could do it, and I guess mebbe I could. But Andy couldn’t,” he added, with conviction. The girl followed her thought. “And what does it matter--if he buys the pictures.” “Well, it matters some,” said Uncle William, slowly. “I dunno ’s I want a liar, not a real liar, ownin’ a picter o’ my house. But if he jest romances, mebbe I could stand it. It does seem different somehow.” When they parted, she looked at him a little wistfully. “I should like to see him again,” she said, waiting. “Like enough,” said Uncle William, gently--“like enough. But I reckon he don’t need you just now.” He held her hand, looking down at her kindly. “_I_ could see _him_,” she suggested. “How’s that?” “I could come down to the boat. I would be careful not to let him see me.” Uncle William considered it. “Well, I dunno ’s that would do any harm--if you’re sure you could keep out o’ the way.” “Yes,” eagerly. “We’re goin’ by the Halifax boat,” said Uncle William. “I can make better ’rangements that way. I know the captain.” “Yes?” It was a question. “Well, I guess ’t you can come. Good night, my dear.” He bent and kissed her gravely. Her eyes followed the tall figure till it loomed away in the dark. XIX The boat eased away from the wharf. The invalid on deck gazed back at the city. A little spot of red lay in the hollow of either cheek. Uncle William hovered about, adjusting pillows and rugs. Now and then his eye dropped to the wharf and picked out, casually, a figure that moved in the crowd. “There--that’s a leetle mite easier, ain’t it?” The young man nodded almost fretfully. “I’m all right, Uncle William. Don’t you fuss any more.” He leaned forward, looking toward the wharf. “Who is that?”