g out her hand, she said softly:

"My dear, dear Bishop, you are the best-hearted, the saintliest man on
earth. Because you are so beautifully clean-souled yourself, you must
pardon me. I am ashamed to say it, but I shall have no rest till I do.
When I saw you in the carriage downtown, with that poor, demented
child, I thought, for just a moment--oh, can you forgive me? It shows
what an evil mind I have. But you, who know so well what Edward is,
what my life has been with him, will see how much reason I have to be
suspicious of all men!"

I shook, I laughed so hard. What a corker her Edward must be! See,
Tom, poor old Mrs. Dowager up in the Square having the same devil's
luck with her man as Molly Elliott down in the Alley has with hers. I
wonder if you're all alike. No, for there's the Bishop. He had taken
her hand sympathizingly, forgivingly, but his silence made me curious.
I knew he wouldn't let the old lady believe for a moment I was luny, if
once he could be sure himself that I wasn't. You lie, Tom Dorgan, he
wouldn't! Well--But the poor baby, how could he expect to see through
a game that had caught the Dowager herself? Still, I could hear him
walking softly toward me, and I felt him looking keenly down at me long
before I opened my eyes.

When I did, you should have seen him jump. Guilty he felt. I could see
the blood rush up under his clear, thin old skin, soft as a baby's, to
find himself caught trying to spy out my secret.

I just looked, big-eyed, up at him. You know; the way Molly's kid
does, when he wakes. I looked a long, long time, as though I was
puzzled.

"Daddy," I said slowly, sitting up. "You--you are my daddy, ain't you?"

"Yes--yes, of course." It was the Dowager who got between him and me,
hinting heavily at him with nods and frowns. But the dear old fellow
only got pinker in the effort to look a lie and not say it. Still, he
looked relieved. Evidently he thought I was luny all right, but that I
had lucid intervals. I heard him whisper something like this to the
Dowager just before the maid came in with tea for me.

Yes, Tom Dorgan, tea for Nancy Olden off a silver salver, out of a cup
like a painted eggshell. My, but that almost floored me! I was afraid
I'd give myself dead away with all those little jars and jugs. So I
said I wasn't hungry, though, Lord knows, I hadn't had anything to eat
since early morning. But the Dowager sent the maid away and took the
tray he