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hands. "I am shocked, really shocked. But we will alter all that. Oh yes,
we will soon alter that."

He sprang up briskly, and unlocking once more the drawer in which he kept
his copy of the Code Napoleon, he took out this time a slip of paper. He
seated himself again, drawing up his chair to the table.

"Will you tell me, Mr. Hine, whether these particulars are correct? We
must be business-like, you know. Oh yes," he said, gaily wagging his head
and cocking his bright little eyes at his visitor. And he began to read
aloud, or rather paraphrase, the paper which he held:

"Your father inherited the same fortune as your uncle, Joseph Hine, but
lost almost the entire amount in speculation. In middle life he married
your mother, who was--forgive me if I wound the delicacy of your
feelings, Mr. Hine--not quite his equal in social position. The happy
couple then took up their residence in Arcade Street, Croydon, where you
were born on March 6, twenty-three years ago."

"Yes," said Walter Hine.

"In Croydon you passed your boyhood. You were sent to the public school
there. But the rigorous discipline of school life did not suit your
independent character." Thus did Mr. Jarvice gracefully paraphrase the


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