with fact for the sake of
his composition.

Cartmell broke the silence. "Since he wrote you a letter, may I venture
to ask--?" He stopped and glanced at me. "Perhaps you wouldn't mind
giving us five minutes to ourselves, Austin?"

I thought the request not unnatural, and rose promptly from my chair.
But we had reckoned without our host--our new host.

"Why do you tell him to go?" she demanded of Cartmell with a sudden
sharpness. "I don't ask him to go. I don't want him to go. Sit down,
please, Mr. Austin."

Cartmell had his two elbows on the table; he bit his thumb as he glanced
up at her from under raised brows. He was not often called to book so
sharply as that. I thought that she would make apology, but she made
none. As I obediently--and, I fear, hastily--sat down again, she took a
letter from a little bag which hung at her waist.

"What did you want to ask?" she said to Cartmell in a tone which was
smooth but by no means overconciliatory.

Cartmell's manner said "Have it if you want it!" as he inquired bluntly,
"Does your father say anything about your mother?"

She took the letter from its envelope and unfolded it. "About my mother
he says this: 'It is necessary for me to say a few words about your
mother. Mr. Cartmell is in possession of all proofs necessary to
establish your position as my daughter, and there is no need for you to
trouble your head about that, as not the smallest difficulty can arise.
The personal aspect of the case is that on which I must touch. Three
years after your birth your mother left me under circumstances which
made it impossible for me to have any further communication with her.
She went to Australia, and died five years later in Melbourne from an
attack of typhoid fever. I caused constant inquiry to be made as to her
position and took measures to secure that she should suffer no hardship.
The circumstances to which I have referred made it imperative that I
should remove you from her charge. As she consented to give up all claim
on you, I did not go to the trouble of obtaining a divorce--which she
did not desire either, as matters had been kept quiet. You will ask, and
with reason, why I did not bring you up myself, and why I have delayed
publicly acknowledging you as my daughter till the hour of my death. I
can give no reason good to the world. I can give none good to my own
conscience, unless it is a good one to say that a man is what God made
him and that there are some thin