Your father is my uncle. My mother was his half sister, and older than
he."

"Yes," said Gertrude, "and she turned Roman Catholic and married in
Europe."

"I see you know," said the young man. "She married and she died. Your
father's family did n't like her husband. They called him a foreigner;
but he was not. My poor father was born in Sicily, but his parents were
American."

"In Sicily?" Gertrude murmured.

"It is true," said Felix Young, "that they had spent their lives in
Europe. But they were very patriotic. And so are we."

"And you are Sicilian," said Gertrude.

"Sicilian, no! Let 's see. I was born at a little place--a dear little
place--in France. My sister was born at Vienna."

"So you are French," said Gertrude.

"Heaven forbid!" cried the young man. Gertrude's eyes were fixed upon
him almost insistently. He began to laugh again. "I can easily be
French, if that will please you."

"You are a foreigner of some sort," said Gertrude.

"Of some sort--yes; I suppose so. But who can say of what sort? I don't