"By the way, you made a great impression upon detective Ross. He was
more than enthusiastic over your graciousness and your beauty. I
never heard him talk so much before in all the years I have known him.
Needless to say, I indorsed everything he said about the dearest
old lady in the world, and then we celebrated by dining together and
drinking a toast to Auntie Sue. . . ."

Auntie Sue went with the letter to Brian, and acquainted him with that
part of the banker's communication which related to the absconding
clerk; but, about her relation to the president of the Empire
Consolidated Savings Bank, she said nothing.

"Isn't it splendid!" she finished, her face glowing with delight.

"Splendid?" he echoed, looking at her with grave, questioning eyes.

"Why, yes, of course!" she returned. "Aren't you glad to be so dead,
under the circumstances? Think what it means! You are free, now. No
horrid old detectives dogging your steps, or waiting behind every bush
and tree to pounce upon you. There is nothing, now, to prevent your
being the kind of man that you always meant to be,--and really ARE,
too,--except for your--your accidental tumble in the river," she
finished with her low chuckling laugh. "And, some day," she went on,
with conviction, "when you have established yourself,--when you have
asserted your REAL self, I mean,--and have paid back every penny of the
money, Homer T. Ward and Mr. Ross and everybody will be glad that they
didn't catch you before you had a chance to save yourself."

"And you, Auntie Sue?" Brian's voice was deep with feeling: "And you?"