"Dear me," said Graycoat gently, "how fortunate for the nephew!"
"That's as you look at it," responded Bluelegs.
Caroline dozed in the warm shade; in dreams she chased the French Queen around the iridescent fountain.
"Uncle any business—besides trusteeship?" asked Graycoat.
"You can search me," said Bluelegs.
"Niece about twenty-one, I take it?" asked Graycoat.
"Search me again," said Bluelegs.
"Should you think," Graycoat demanded, after a pause, "that this incipient melancholia was likely to last long—speaking, of course, professionally?"
"Really, Dr. Riggs, I don't know." Bluelegs replied. "I am not at all in touch with the case. The doctor has entire charge of it. He mentioned to me last week that he was sorry to see both in her and young Dahl evidences of clearly formed delusions—"
"Young Dahl!" cried Graycoat, "why, the boy is an admitted paranoiac!"
"Really?" said Bluelegs, "you know I don't
