"With you? What assurance! How like Harry!" she exclaimed.

The words were precisely those which her host had been saying to
himself; but proceeding from her lips they had a strange effect upon
him.

"You find it so?" he asked. The clearer the proposition became to Mrs.
Evringham's consciousness the more she resented it. To have the child
in the house not only would menace her ease and comfort, but meant
a possibility that the grandfather might take an interest in Harry's
daughter which would disturb Eloise's chances.

"Of course it does. I call it simply presumptuous," she declared with
emphasis.

"After all, Harry has some rights," rejoined Mr. Evringham slowly.

"His wife is a dressmaker," went on the other. "I had it directly from
a Chicago friend. Harry has scarcely been with the child since she was
born. And to saddle a little stranger like that on you! Now Eloise and
_her_ father were inseparable."

There was an ominous glitter in Mr. Evringham's eyes. "Eloise's father!"
he returned slowly. "I did not know that she remembered him."

The hurt of his tone and words sank deep into the heart of the girl, but
she looked up courageously.

"Your son was my father in every best sense," she said. "We were
inseparable. You must have known it."