," said Sylvia. "Does he look
shabby--poor? It sounds like an impostor."

"N-no," returned the girl doubtfully. "He ain't exactly a Rube, but
then you'd know he wasn't a swell, either. He looks awful nice out of
his eyes. I'd like to have him _my_ mother's cousin."

This was somewhat encouraging, but country cousins were no part of
Sylvia's plan. "You go down and tell him I've been ill. I'm not able to
see him," she said at last decidedly.

"I don't like to one bit," returned the maid. "I kind of hate to
disappoint him." She lingered a moment, but Sylvia shrugged her
shoulders and turned her face to the wall, so the girl departed.

Only a couple of minutes had passed when the knock sounded again on
Sylvia's door, and the maid pushed it open without awaiting permission.

"He asked was you able to be dressed," she began, rather breathless
from her quick run, "and I said you was, and he said for me to tell you
he'd come about the telegram you got."

Sylvia was still holding the telegram. She started. So Mr. Dunham was
not coming. He had not admired her, then. He did despise her as a
cast-off poor relation. A flush rose to her cheeks, and she sprang from
the bed quickly. "I'll go down," she said briefly.

"Well, I'm real glad," declared the maid. "That wrapper looks all
right. I wouldn't stop to change."

She gazed admiringly at the brilliant tints of Sylvia's complexion as
the girl ran a comb through her reddish curls.

"Indeed I shan't change for him," responded Sylvia. Her heart was hot
within her. Dunham might have come himself. Now she should never see
him again, and she didn't care. The only reason she had wished to meet
him was to show him her inflexibility and independence despite her
acceptance of the despised money he had forced upon her.

She swept by the maid, who continued to gaze after her with admiration,
and went downstairs to the reception room.

There she found a man with gray hair and short white beard, sitting
near a window, a somewhat limp bag on the floor beside him. She paused
inside the doorway and stood regarding him.

There was nothing interesting in his appearance. She had had all she
wanted of relatives. If those who would have been creditable would none
of her, she certainly would none of this countrified individual and his
claim of cousinship.

"Good-afternoon," she began coldly. "You say you have brought me some
explanation of Mr. Dunham's telegram?"

"Why, why," said the stra