"And that we can have him arrested at once?"
"What difference would that make? There are hundreds of other Blackies. They might keep cropping up all the time. From now on I'll never have a moment's peace of mind. Not because I give a damn about myself but for Dorothy's sake. I don't want her life to be ruined. She is rich and beautiful and young. There is much happiness waiting for her. Nothing must occur to spoil it. Therefore I wish to retire from the picture. I can't merely resign being her aunt. That would be ridiculous. For that reason you must help. As attorney for the estate you must bring suit against me as an impostor. In the court proceedings you must prove that I am Louella Leota of the underworld of the Midwest. You must not bring out any facts to prove that I am Mary Blaine. Of course I will fight the case. I'll prejudice the court against me by my coarseness. I can assure you that won't be hard."
"It is a strange request," he mused. "I doubt if I shall have any part in it."
"It means Dorothy's happiness," she pleaded.
"Do you think Dorothy would be happy without you?"
"She'd get over any attachment as soon as she found what a brazen hussy I really am."
"Do you think you would be happy without Dorothy?"
"That's beside the point. I am an old woman. Only a short road of life still remains for me to traverse. But for Dorothy the road is long. It must be kept sunny and beautiful."
Clive Reardon toyed thoughtfully with his fountain-pen. He drew funny little figures on a pad of paper. It was a habit in which he indulged when thinking deeply. Sometimes in court during the progress of the case he drew the judge. If His Honor could have seen the grotesque caricatures of himself, it is doubtful if Clive Reardon would have been so eminently successful.
At last he glanced up at Mary Blaine.
"I think it but right to tell you," he began, "that both your brother Templeton and I knew for many years that you were Louella Leota."
"I was wondering why you did not seem surprised at my confession," she broke in.
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