ably, "if this young man had not been in existence, this child would have succeeded, eh?"
"Why, of course," agreed Mrs. Greyle a little impatiently. "But what's the use of talking about that, my old friend! The young man is in possession—and there you are!"
"Do you like the young man?" asked Mr. Dennie. "I take an old fellow's privilege in asking direct questions, you know. And—though we haven't seen each other for all these years—you can say anything to me."
"No, we don't," replied Mrs. Greyle. "And we don't know why we don't—so there's a woman's answer for you. Kinsfolk though we are, we see little of each other."
Mr. Dennie made no remark on this. He walked along at Audrey's side, apparently in deep thought, and suddenly he looked across at her mother.
"What do you think about this extraordinary story of Bassett Oliver's having met a Marston Greyle over there in America?" he asked abruptly. "What do people here think about it?"
"We're not in a position to hear much of what other people think," answered Mrs. Greyle. "What I think is that if this Marston Greyle ever did meet such a very notable and noticeable man as Bassett Oliver it's a very, very strange thing that he's forgotten all about it!"
Mr. Dennie laughed quietly.
'Aye, aye!" he said. "But—don't you think we folk of the profession are a little bit apt to magnify
