makes a clean breast of an old story of tampered with, or else
suppressed, documents, a story which clears altogether the honesty
of our ruined gentleman. That embezzling fellow was in a position
to know, having been employed by the firm before the smash. There
was no doubt about the character being cleared--but where the
cleared man was nobody could tell. Another sensation in society.
And then Miss Moorsom says: 'He will come back to claim me, and
I'll marry him.' But he didn't come back. Between you and me I
don't think he was much wanted--except by Miss Moorsom. I imagine
she's used to have her own way. She grew impatient, and declared
that if she knew where the man was she would go to him. But all
that could be got out of the old butler was that the last envelope
bore the postmark of our beautiful city; and that this was the only
address of 'Master Arthur' that he ever had. That and no more. In
fact the fellow was at his last gasp--with a bad heart. Miss
Moorsom wasn't allowed to see him. She had gone herself into the
country to learn what she could, but she had to stay downstairs
while the old chap's wife went up to the invalid. She brought down
the scrap of intelligence I've told you of. He was already too far
gone to be cross-examined on it, and that very night he died. He
didn't leave behind him much to go by, did he? Our Willie hinted
to me that there had been pretty stormy days in the professor's
house, but--here they are. I have a notion she isn't the kind of
everyday young lady who may be permitted to gallop about the world
all by herself--eh? Well, I think it rather fine of her, but I
quite understand that the professor needed all his philosophy under
the circumstances. She is his only child now--and brilliant--what?
Willie positively spluttered trying to describe her to me; and I
could see directly you came in that you had an uncommon
experience."