"Mr. Barton tells me you propose leaving here on Saturday. I beg you will
not do so. Please consider it your home for so long as you wish--until
you can make some arrangements for yourself. You look so very young to be
going about the world alone!"

He bent down and gazed at me closer--there was an odd tone in his voice.

"I am twenty, and I have been often snubbed," I said, calmly. "That
prepares one for a good deal. I shall enjoy doing what I please."

"And what are you going to please?"

"I shall go to Claridge's until I can look about me."

He moved uneasily.

"But have you no relations--no one who will take care of you?"

"I believe none. My mother was nobody particular, you know--a Miss Tonkins
by name."

"But your father?" He sat down now on the sofa beside me; there was a
puzzled, amused look in his face; perhaps I was amazing him.

"Papa? Oh, papa was the last of his family. They were decent people, but
there are no more of them."

He pushed one of the cushions aside.