conversation as soon as he'd breakfasted this morning, and as a result, and though Mrs. Parkinson is really not fit to be left, I came here with him to see you."
"What about?" asked Wedgwood, curtly.
Mrs. Patello's thin lips smiled, and she inclined her head to one side with something of archness.
"Well, of course, Mr. Wedgwood, you'll allow that what you told Mr. Patello must needs be very disquietening to us," she answered. "I mean—to us as a family. This young woman that you speak of, and that's being advertised for in the newspapers, you know."
"What about her?" enquired Wedgwood.
"Well, according to you or to what she told you, she's the daughter of Matthew Mortover and of his wife Louisa, who was my husband's sister," replied Mrs. Patello. "If that's so it's a queer thing in my opinion that none of her relations had ever heard of her!"
"According to my information," said Wedgwood, "and to what Mr. Patello told me last night, none of you had ever heard of either Matthew or Louisa since they were married!"
"That is so, Mr. Wedgwood," agreed Mrs. Patello. "But they were far away—in Canada, we believed. Now according to the information you afforded to Mr. Patello last night, Matthew
