“The Miss Hiticutts—­hundred thousand apiece.”

“Hundred thousand apiece,” I echoed in an anguish of admiration, which made my father laugh and Ben scowl.  A servant in a linen jacket opened the door.  “Is it yourself, Mr. Ben?”

“Open the parlor door, Murph.  Where’s my mother and my sister?”

“Miss Somers is taking her exercise, sir, and Mrs. Somers is with the owld gentleman”; opening the door, with the performance of taking father’s hat.

“Sit down, Cassandra.  I’ll look up somebody.”

It was a bewildering matter where to go; the room, vast and dark, was a complete litter of tables and sofas.  The tables were loaded with lamps, books, and knick-knacks of every description; the sofas were strewn with English and French magazines, novels, and papers.  I went to the window, while father perched on the music stool.

My attention was diverted to a large dog in the court, chained to a post near a pump, where a man was giving water to a handsome bay horse, at the same time keeping his eye on an individual who stood on a stone block, dressed in a loose velvet coat, a white felt hat, and slippers down at the heel.  He had a coach whip in his hand—­the handsomest hand I ever saw, which he snapped at the dog, who growled with rage.  I heard Ben’s voice in remonstrance; then a lazy laugh from velvet coat, who gave the dog a cut which made him bound.  Ben, untying him, was overwhelmed with caresses.  “Down, you fool!  Off, Rash!” he said.  “Look there,” pointing to the window where I stood.  The gentleman with the coach whip looked at me also.  The likeness to Ben turned my suspicion into certainty that they were brothers.  His disposition, I thought, must be lovely, judging from the episode with “Rash.”  I turned away, almost running against a lady, who extended her fingers toward me with a quick little laugh, and said: 

“How de do?  Where’s Ben, to introduce us properly?”

“Here, mother,” he said behind her, followed by the dog.  “You were expecting Cassandra, my old chum; and Mr. Morgeson has come to leave her with us.”

“Certainly.  Rash, go out, dear.  Mr. Morgeson, I am sorry to say,” she spoke with more politeness, “that Mr. Somers is confined to his room with gout.  May I take you up?”

“I have a short time to stay,” looking at his watch and rising.  “Do you consider the old school friendship between your son and Cassandra a sufficient reason for leaving her with you?  To say nothing of the faint relationship which, we suppose, exists.”

“Of course, very happy; Adelaide expects her,” she said vaguely.  I saw at once that she had never heard a word of our being relations.  Ben had managed nicely in the affair of my invitation to Belem.  But I desired to remain, in spite of Mrs. Somers’s reception.