"Oh," she laughed, a little vexedly, roused from her meditations--"just
one of my poor relations."

"Ah?" said he, a trifle surprised.

A far cry, indeed, from the celebrated dowager, friend of diplomats and
presidents, to Miss Cooney of Saltman's bookstore, in a three-year-old
skirt. And how like Hen, instead of quietly looking the other way, to
yell out some Cooneyesque greeting and wave that perfectly absurd
umbrella....

To Hen it was, a day or two later, that Carlisle mailed the two
Settlement checks, hers for a hundred and Hugo's for ten times that
amount. She licked the stamp with intense satisfaction. However, the
rewards of her generosity seemed somewhat flat. Hen, indeed, called her
up immediately upon receipt of her communication, and contents noted,
with excited thanksgiving. However, that was all: the checks were turned
over to Mr. Dayne, and there the matted ended. Carlisle was oppressed
with a sense of anti-climax. She even thought of sending another and
larger check straight to Dr. Vivian.

Canning, it developed rather to Carlisle's surprise, took his business
quite seriously. His indolences of the sick-leave period were now
sloughed from him. He had returned this time, not merely with his
favorite car and mechanic for the afternoon excursions, but accompanied
by mysterious "papers" and a man stenographer; and, occupying rooms in
the New Arlington Hotel, gave his mornings and even some of his evenings
religiously to work.

"Why, Hugo, are you a _lawyer?_" cried Carlisle, when he first explained