For five minutes the talk between these two girls, of about the same age and blood but, it seemed, almost without a point of contact, was considerably perfunctory. Then, by an odd chance and in the wink of an eye, it took on a very distinct interest. Carlisle inquired if Hen had ever heard of a man named V. Vivian, said to be a nephew of Mr. Beirne; and Hen, with a little exclamation, and a certain quickening of countenance, replied that she had been raised with him. Moreover, she referred to him as V.V.... Though the Cooneys knew everybody, as well as everything, and though Carlisle had thought before now of putting an inquiry to Hen or Chas in this particular direction, the manner of her cousin's reply was a decided surprise to her, and somehow a disagreeable surprise. "Oh! Really?" said she, rather coldly. "I understood--some one told me--that the man had just come here to live." "He's just come _back_," explained Hen, with interest. "Why, he was born here, Cally, three doors from where we used to live down on Third Street--remember? Well, Dr. Vivian lived right there till he was sixteen or seventeen--" "Why do you call him Dr. Vivian?" "Well, that's what he is, you see. He's a doctor--medical man." "He doesn't look in the least like a medical man to me," said Carlisle, as if that ought to settle something. "Oh! You know him, then?" "I have spoken to him," replied Carlisle, her gaze full on Hen's face. "You see a great deal of him, I suppose?" "No, we don't," said Hen, with an odd air, suggestive of regret. "He keeps so terribly busy. Besides being sort of a missionary doctor, he's always working on dozens of grand schemes of one sort or another. His latest is to raise about a million dollars and buy the Dabney House for a Settlement! How's that for a tall one? He just mentioned it to me this morning, _en passant_, and says I must help him raise the million--" "I suppose you didn't know that one of his grand schemes was to write a terrible article in the paper attacking papa and the Works?" "Oh!" said Hen, plucking a thread from her old black skirt. "Oh, that letter in the 'Post,' long ago, you mean? Yes, I--knew about that; I wanted to speak to you about it at the time. Did you read it, Cally?" "I glanced at it," said Cally, shortly. Full of the interest of thundering feet as the week had been since Willie and mamma had given her the connecting link, Carlisle had in fact made a point of getting hold of a copy of the old paper containing that particular piece. Not being at all familiar with Works and newspapers, she had found the process involved with considerable perplexity and trouble, but she had felt amply rewarded in the end. The piece came to her hand like a weapon, against any possible remeeting with its remembered author. Now she regarded Hen with steadily rising annoyance.