enjoyed himself while skating; her stupid cold had kept her indoors. She
had amused herself rambling about the old homestead; it was such a queer
place, so full of old nooks and corners and unaccountable spaces. Just
the place, she would think, where old treasures might have been stored.
Eh?

Mr. Gunn had not spoken--he had only coughed. But in the darkness his
eyes were fixed angrily on her face. Without observing it, she went on.
She knew he was interested in the old house; she had heard him talk
to Kitty about it: had Kitty ever said anything about some old secret
hoarding place?

No, certainly not! And she was mistaken, he never was interested in
the house! He could not understand what had put that idea in her head!
Unless it was this ridiculous, shady stranger in the guise of an uncle
whom they had got there. It was like his affectation!

"Oh, dear, no," said Marie, with unmistakable truthfulness, "HE did not
say anything. But," with sudden inconsistent aggression, "is THAT the
way you speak to Kitty of her uncle?"

Really he didn't know--he was joking only, and he was afraid he must
just now ask her to excuse him. He had received letters that made it
possible that he might be called suddenly to New York at any moment.
Marie stared. It was evident that he had proposed to Kitty and been
rejected! But she was no nearer her discovery.

Nor was there the least revelation in the calm, half-bored, yet
good-humored presence of the wicked uncle at dinner. So indifferent
did he seem, not only to his own villainy but even to the loss it had