“It is hard to tell it in logical sequence,” she said, hesitating a moment.  “So many things seem to overlap each other.  You must understand a little more about Hilton Travers.  During the five years following the signing of the will father came frequently to New York, and became, not only intimate with Travers, but so much impressed with the other’s cleverness and ability that he kept putting more and more of his business into Travers’ hands.  At the end of that five years, we moved to New York, and father, who was then quite an old man, retired from all active business, and turned over a great many of his personal affairs to Travers to look after for him, giving Travers power of attorney in a number of instances.  So much for Travers.  Now about my uncle.  He was my father’s only brother; in fact, they were the only surviving members of their family, apart from very distant connections in France, from where, generations back, the family originally came.”  Her hand touched Jimmie Dale’s for an instant.  “That ring, Jimmie, with its crest and inscription, is the old family coat of arms.”

“Yes,” he said briefly; “I surmised as much.”

“Strange as it may seem, in view of the fact that they had not seen each other for twenty years,” she went on hurriedly “my father and my uncle were more than ordinarily attached to each other.  Letters passed regularly between them, and there was constant talk of one paying the other a visit—­but the visit never materialised.  My uncle was somewhere in Australia, my father was here, and consequently I never saw my uncle.  He was quite a different type of man from father—­more restless, less settled, more rough and ready, preferring the outdoor life of the Australian bush to the restrictions of any so-called civilisation, I imagine.  Financially, I do not think he ever succeeded very well, for twice, in one way or another, he lost every sheep on his ranch and father set him up again; and I do not think he could ever have had much of a ranch, for I remember once, in one of the letters he wrote, that he said he had not seen a white man in weeks, so he must have lived a very lonely life.  Indeed, at about the time father drew the new will, my uncle wrote, saying that he had decided to give up sheep running on his own account as it did not pay, and to accept a very favourable offer that had been made to him to manage a ranch in New Zealand; and his next letter was from the latter country, stating that he had carried out his intentions, and was well satisfied with the change he had made.  The long-proposed visit still continued to occupy my father’s thoughts, and on his retirement from business he definitely made up his mind to go out to New Zealand, taking me with him.  In fact, the plans were all arranged, my uncle expressed unbounded delight in his letters, and we were practically on the eve of sailing, when a cable came from my uncle, telling us to postpone the visit for a few months, as he was obliged to make a buying trip for his new employer that would keep him away that length of time—­and then”—­her fingers, that had been abstractedly picking out the lines formed by the grain of the wood in the table top, closed suddenly into tight-clenched fists—­“and then—­my father died.”