gs actually smiled. She would have patted my arm if I had not
jerked it out of the way.

"You trust me, sir," she whispered, confidingly. "You trust my kind
'eart. I'll look after 'er like she was my own daughter."

I should have hated to trust even my worst enemy--if I had one--to Mrs.
Briggs' "kind heart." I walked off in disgust. I found a cab at the next
corner and, bidding the driver take me to Bancroft's, threw myself back
on the cushions. This was a lovely mess! This was a beautiful climax to
the first act--no, merely the prologue--of the drama of Hephzy's and my
pilgrimage. What would Jim Campbell say to this? I was to be absolutely
care-free; I was not to worry about myself or anyone else. That was the
essential part of his famous "prescription." And now, here I was, with
this impossible situation and more impossible young woman on my hands.
If Little Frank had been a boy, a healthy boy, it would be bad enough.
But Little Frank was a girl--a sick girl, without a penny. And a girl
thoroughly convinced that she was the rightful heir to goodness knows
how much wealth--wealth of which we, the uncivilized, unprincipled
natives of an unprincipled, uncivilized country, had robbed her parents
and herself. Little Frank had been a dream before; now he--she, I
mean--was a nightmare; worse than that, for one wakes from a nightmare.
And I was on my way to tell Hephzy!

Well, I told her. She was in our sitting-room when I reached the hotel
and I told her the whole story. I began by reading the letter. Before
she had recovered from the shock of the reading, I told her that I had
actually met and talked with Little Frank; and while this astounding bit
of news was, so to speak, soaking into her bewildered brain, I went on
to impart the crowning item of information--namely, that Little Frank
was Miss Frances. Then I sat back and awaited what might follow.

Her first coherent remark was one which I had not expected--and I had
expected almost anything.

"Oh, Hosy," gasped Hephzy, "tell me--tell me before you say anything
else. Does he--she, I mean--look like Ardelia?"

"Eh? What?" I stammered. "Look like--look like what?"

"Not what--who. Does she look like Ardelia? Like her mother? Oh, I HOPE
she doesn't favor her father's side! I did so want our Little Frank to
look like his--her--I CAN'T get used to it--like my poor Ardelia. Does
she?"

"Goodness knows! I don't know who she looks like. I didn't notice."

"You didn't!