Vickers let her read in silence--he had enough to occupy his thoughts; but when he had finished, and Plimpton had disappeared for good, he rose and, standing against the mantelpiece, looked down at her and said: “Could you give me a few minutes of your time and attention, Miss Lee? At least I suppose your name is Lee. Plimpton says so.” His address succeeded in making her look up. “Plimpton says my name is Lee? Do you need to be told? Are we crazy?” “We are not crazy, though one of us is rather sadly mistaken,” he answered. “You did not talk last night in a way to invite confidence, Miss Lee. Far be it from me to criticise your social manner, but I can not help thinking that you were not at your best. You were annoyed, and you had the misfortune to make me angry, too. Angry as I was, however, I can see on thinking it over that you must have had a hard time,--so hard that any man would be glad to give you a helping hand, and that, within limits, I am prepared to do.” Nellie had stopped eating, and was now leaning back in her chair with something of the manner of the first row at a new drama. “You will, will you, Bob? You are extremely kind,” she answered, with twinkling eyes. “I am,” said Vickers. “I am most extraordinarily and unnecessarily magnanimous: for, as I suppose you knew from the moment you set eyes on me, I am not your cousin.” There was an instant in which he made ready for consequences, and then, to his surprise, she began to smile, and then to chuckle, and then to laugh in the most disconcerting way imaginable. Vickers would not interrupt her merriment, but continued to stare at her with what dignity he could command. “You are so delightful, Bob. You always live up to your character. I have been wondering all night how you would get out of this, and I decided on ill-health. Heart-disease, I rather thought. It seemed an excellent opportunity for heart-disease. You could easily arrange doctor’s bills that would run far beyond anything you could make. But I did you injustice, grave injustice; this is infinitely better. You are not you, but some one else. And were you changed at birth? or in South America?” Disregarding her merriment, he went on: “Nevertheless I am willing to stay here, and give my time and attention to your uncle’s affairs if they need it, and to contribute my share to the household expenses. There is no reason in the world why I should do this, except for the fact that I rather like you. I’m sure I don’t know why: for a more disagreeable, sharp-tongued young woman I never met. Still, the fact remains: I do like you. But I make one condition--not a very hard one--namely that you shall be decently civil to me. Do you understand?” “I understand perfectly,” she answered. “We are to accept your doing your duty as the most extraordinary personal favor. Is that it, Bob?”