Malpas had told Nina many things about the
vanished Lemuel; among others, the curious detail that he had two small
moles--one hairless, the other hirsute--close together on the under side
of his right wrist. Nina had seen precisely such marks of identification
on the right wrist of Mr. Lionel Belmont.

She was convinced that Lionel Belmont was her father. There could not be
two men in the world so stamped by nature. She perceived that in
changing his name he had chosen Lionel because of its similarity to
Lemuel. She felt certain, too, that she had noticed vestiges of the Five
Towns accent beneath his Americanisms. But apart from these reasons, she
knew by a superrational instinct that Lionel Belmont was her father; it
was not the call of blood, but the positiveness of a woman asserting
that a thing is so because she is sure it is so.

III

Nina was not of an imaginative disposition. The romance of this
extraordinary encounter made no appeal to her. She was the sort of girl
that constantly reads novelettes, and yet always, with fatigued scorn,
refers to them as 'silly.' Stupid little Nina was intensely practical
at heart, and it was the practical side of her father's reappearance
that engaged her birdlike mind. She did not stop to reflect that truth
is stranger than fiction. Her tiny heart was not agitated by any
ecstatic ponderings upon the wonder and mystery of fate. She did not
feel strangely drawn towards Lionel Belmont, nor did she feel that he
supplied a something which had always been wanting to her.

On the other hand, her pride--and Nina was very proud--found much
satisfaction in the fact that her father, having turned up, was so fine,
handsome, dashing, good-humoured, and wealthy. It was well, and
excellently well, and delicious, to have a father like that. The
possession of such a father opened up vistas of a future so enticing and
glorious that her present career became instantly loathsome to her.

It suddenly seemed impossible that she could have tolerated the
existence of a hotel clerk for a single week. Her eyes were opened, and
she saw, as many women have seen, that luxury was an absolute necessity
to her. All her ideas soared with the magic swiftness of the
bean-stalk. And at the same time she was terribly afraid, unaccountably
afraid, to confront Mr. Belmont and tell him that she was his Nina; he
was entirely unaware that he had a Nina.

'I'm your daughter! I know by your moles!'

She whispe