It did not take all night to bring him to his resolution. Risk or no risk, he would tell her the truth. He would explain to her that he was not the poor wretch she took him for. He could wish, of course, that, to make his revenge complete, a year or so had gone by, during which time she and the forlorn old man would have lived upon his bounty. This would be perfect; but in the meantime he expected to derive a sufficient amount of satisfaction from her expression when she realized that he was a total stranger. Having reached this conclusion, he fell asleep, only to be wakened by Plimpton. Plimpton, though he had now spent many years in America, had not sloughed off his British tradition. The eldest son was the eldest son. Scandal or no scandal, he respected the heir of the house. He pulled up the shade and drew aside the curtains with the air of one performing a religious rite. “If you would leave me your keys, sir, before you go out, I would unpack your trunks as soon as they come.” Vickers watched him. “Plimpton,” he said, “I have no trunk.” He was very much mistaken if he had expected any expression of surprise from Plimpton. He had duly unpacked the saddle-bags and knew their meager contents by heart, but he made no comment. He merely bowed. “No,” Vickers went on, “I have no bag, but in that belt, Plimpton, which I notice you are regarding with so much disfavor, is some four hundred dollars in American gold. I am just making up my mind to go out and spend it all upon my back if I knew where to go.” Here Plimpton felt he _could_ be of use. He had not valeted some of the best-dressed men in London and New York for nothing. He instantly named a tailor. “And for immediate use, sir,” he added, as he hung the blue serge trousers over a chair, brushed beyond their deserts, “for immediate use I think you might find something that would fit you at Hooks’s. I should not recommend it for most gentlemen, but with a figure like yours, sir----” “Thanks, Plimpton.” “And will you breakfast downstairs or here, sir?” “Where does Mr. Lee breakfast?” “Not before noon, in his room, sir.” “And Miss Nellie?” “Miss Lee, sir” (Vickers noted the reproof), “breakfasts in the dining-room at nine.” “I will breakfast in the dining-room at nine,” said Vickers, and sprang out of bed. When he came downstairs, she was already at table, sitting imperturbably behind the high silver coffee urn. “Good-morning, Bob,” she said, as calmly as if they had parted on the best of terms; “I hope you slept.” Vickers was still conscious of the excitement of his situation--the strange room, the silver, the pretty woman opposite him. “Thank you,” he said, “I slept something horrid. My temper was only restored by Plimpton. Plimpton is much the nicest person in the house. He admires my figure.” “Really,” said Nellie, and took up the morning paper.