"Must I go to Europe with my mother?" she asked again, the
conversation coming round to just that with which it had begun.

"I'll talk with your mother," said Uncle Oldways, getting up and
looking into his hat, as a man always does when he thinks of putting
it on presently. "Good-night. I suppose you are tired enough now.
I'll come again and see you."

Desire stood up and gave him her hand.

"I thank you, Uncle Titus, with all my heart."

He did not answer her a word; but he knew she meant it.

He did not stop that night to see his niece. He went home, to think
it over. But as he walked down Borden Street, swinging his big
stick, he said to himself,--

"Next of kin! Old Marmaduke Wharne was right. But it takes more than
the Family Bible to tell you which it is!"

Two days after, he had a talk with Mrs. Ledwith which relieved both
their minds.

From the brown-and-apricot drawing-room,--from among the things
that stood for nothing now, and had never stood for home,--he went
straight up, without asking, and knocked at Desire's third-story
door.

"Come in!" she said, without a note of expectation in her voice.