I could see the blood rush up under his clear, thin old skin, soft
as a baby's, to find himself caught trying to spy out my secret.

I just looked, big-eyed, up at him. You know; the way Molly's
kid does, when he wakes. I looked a long, long time, as though I
was puzzled.

"Daddy," I said slowly, sitting up. "You--you are my daddy,
ain't you?"

"Yes--yes, of course." It was the Dowager who got between him
and me, hinting heavily at him with nods and frowns. But the dear
old fellow only got pinker in the effort to look a lie and not
say it. Still, he looked relieved. Evidently he thought I was
luny all right, but that I had lucid intervals. I heard him
whisper something like this to the Dowager just before the maid
came in with tea for me.

Yes, Tom Dorgan, tea for Nancy Olden off a silver salver, out of
a cup like a painted eggshell. My, but that almost floored me!
I was afraid I'd give myself dead away with all those little jars
and jugs. So I said I wasn't hungry, though, Lord knows, I hadn't
had anything to eat since early morning. But the Dowager sent the
maid away and took the tray herself, operating all the jugs and
pots for me, and then tried to feed me the tea. She was about as
handy as Molly's little sister is with the baby--but I allowed
myself to be coaxed, and drank it down.

Tea, Tom Dorgan. Ever taste tea? If you knew how to behave
yourself in polite society, I'd give you a card to my friend, the