to bring you here, I am afraid I shall have to ask you one or two questions, Miss Blyth.” 

 His manner was just what it ought to have been, respectful, and yet not too distant. 

 “Any answers I can give you, Mr. Paine, you are welcome to.” 

 “What was your mother’s maiden name?” 

 “Mary Ann Batters. She died six years ago next month, when I was fourteen. My father’s name was Augustus. He was a most superior person, although unfortunate in business; and though he died five years before my mother, I’ve heard her say, almost to her last hour, that she had married above her—which I believe she did.” 

 “Had your mother any relations?” 

 “None.” 

 “Think again.” 

 “Well, in a manner of speaking, there was one; but about him least said soonest mended; although he was her brother—that is, until she cast him off.” 

 “What was his name?” 

 “Benjamin. Although I do not remember ever hearing her mention it, and, indeed, she was opposed to speaking of him at all; I learned it was so through finding some letters of his in one of her boxes after she was dead, and those letters I have unto this day.” 

 “That is fortunate; because it is as the representative of Mr. Benjamin Batters that I am here.” 

 “Indeed? You don’t mean to say so. This is a surprise.” 

 And not a pleasant one either. I had heard of Mr. Benjamin Batters, though not for years and years, but never had I heard anything to his credit. A regular all-round bad lot he must have been, up to all sorts of tricks, and worse than tricks. I had reason to believe he had been in prison more than once, perhaps more than twice. When you have a relation like that, and have forgotten all about him, and are thankful to have been able to do it, you do not like to have him come flying, all of a sudden, in your face. I was not obliged to Mr. Paine for mentioning his name. If that was all he had to talk about I was sorry I had come. 

 “I may take it, then, that Mr. Benjamin Batters is an uncle of yours.” 

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