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pretty as a picture, and sweet, and regular. . . . He sought yet another word, and found it when he saw her reënter. Dauntless! That was it.

She had changed into a silver brocaded robe trimmed in bands of fur, and silver mules clung to her toes. She relaxed on the sofa once more, sighing happily. "Pardon the digression, Jock, but corsets at six in the morning are a very special abomination. Let's see, where was I? Oh. About Saunders Lincoln."

"You must have skipped something," Jock objected. "Where did Uncle Link come in?"

"He comes in now. I am, I'm skipping a lot, my dear, because it's late and you say you have something to tell me after I've finished, and if we expect to sleep at all today I'll have to make this a short synopsis. We've the rest of our lives to fill in the blanks. About Saunders: he was an old flame of mine——"

"Sure, I always guessed that."

"Precocious infant! Well, he was, and when I married your father he told me that if he could ever do anything for me I was to call on him—the time-honored litany of the jilted lover. I think he is probably the only one in history who ever really meant it, but be that as it may. Two years after your father died, I did call on him, in my extremity; and he set me up in this business. Lent me the money to buy this house and all its fixtures, and got men he knew in New York into the habit of coming out here. We really have a quite wonderful clientele, Jock. Some of the names would astound you. Every newcomer is introduced and sponsored as though into a blueblooded club, and has to present all the credentials you can think of—with the possible exception of a letter from his clergyman! We've been extremely cautious.