"Yes, I forget what name she played under. But she's a very great lady now; in with all the swells and rich enough to own a yacht if she wanted to." "But a widow." "Oh, yes, a widow." I let a moment of silence pass, then nonchalantly remarked: "Why is she going to Europe?" But this was too much for my simple-hearted friend. He neither knew nor had any conjecture ready. But I saw that he did not deplore her resolve. His reason for this presently appeared. "If the little one is found, the mother will want all her caresses. Let Mrs. Carew hug the boy that God in his mercy has thrown into her arms and leave other children to their mothers." I rose to leave, when I bethought me and stopped to ask another question. "Who is the gentleman I have seen about here--a man with a handsome face, but very pale and thin in his appearance, so much so that it is quite noticeable?" "Do you mean Mr. Rathbone?" "I do not know his name. A light complexioned man, who looks as if greatly afflicted by some disease or secret depression." "Oh, that is Mr. Rathbone, sure. He is sickly-looking enough and not without his trouble, too. They say--but it's all gossip, of course--that he has set his heart on the widow." "Mrs. Carew?" "Of course, who else?" "And she?" "Why, she would be a fool to care for him, unless--" "Unless what?" Thomas laughed--a little uneasily, I could not help thinking. "I'm afraid we're talking scandal," said he. "You know the relationship?" "What relationship?" "Why, his relationship to the family. He is Gwendolen's cousin and I have heard it said that he's named after her in Madam Ocumpaugh's will." "O, I see! The next heir, eh?" "Yes, to the Rathbone property." "So that if she is not found--" "Your sickly man, in that case, would be well worth the marrying." "Is Mrs. Carew so fond of money as all that? I thought she was a woman of property." "She is; but it takes money to make some men interesting. He isn't handsome enough, or independent enough to go entirely on his own merits. Besides, he has a troop of relatives hanging on to him--blood-suckers who more than eat up his salary." "A business man, then?" "Yes, in some New York house. He was always very fond of Gwendolen, and I am not surprised to hear that he is very much cut up by our trouble. I always thought well of Mr. Rathbone myself,"--which same ended the conversation so far as my interest in it was concerned. IX THE BUNGALOW