was so great; almost she could have called him an impostor on the spot.

'Yes,' said Uncle Abel in a harsh undertone; 'and you, I suppose, are my
niece?'

'Yes. Can I take your overcoat or your umbrella?' asked Gladys; 'and
would you like some tea? I can ask Miss Peck to get it. I have not had
any myself--now I come to think of it.'

'I'll take off my coat. Yes, you can take it away, but don't order tea
yet. We had better talk first--talking always makes one hungry; then we
can have tea, and we won't require any supper. These are the economics
poor people have to study. I guess you are no stranger to them?'

Gladys again faintly smiled. She was not in the least surprised. Poverty
had long been her companion, she expected nothing but to have it for her
companion still. She took her uncle's hat and overcoat, hung them in the
little hall, and returned to the room, closing the door.

'Perhaps you are cold, uncle?' she said, and, grasping the poker, was
about to stir up the fire, when he hastily took it from her, with an
expression of positive pain on his face.

'Don't; it is quite warm. We can't afford to be extravagant; and I
daresay,' he added, with a backward jerk of his thumb towards the door,
'like the rest of her tribe, she'll know how to charge. Sit down there,
and let us talk.'

Gladys sat down, feeling a trifle hurt and abashed. They had always been
very poor, she and her father, but they had never obtruded it on their