“The obvious thing to do,” remarked Quincy, “is to invest it at once, so that it will begin paying you interest.”

“That is just what I wished to see you about,” responded Lindy.  “How would you advise me to invest it?” she asked.

“I would not presume,” replied Quincy, “to give positive advice in such a case.  I would go either to Foss & Follansbee, or Braithwaite & Mellen, or perhaps Rothwell Brothers & Co., look over the securities they have for sale and make my own selection, if I were in your place.”

Lindy was manifestly disappointed at Quincy’s polite refusal to recommend any particular security, but she evidently realized that further argument or entreaty would be useless, so she quickly changed the subject by remarking that her mother had considerable money invested, but that she was a woman who never took any advice and never gave any.

“I wonder who my mother is going to leave her money to?  Do you know, Mr. Sawyer?”

Quincy replied that he did not.  “But she did tell me that by the terms of your brother’s will you were not to inherit it.”

“Well, if you ever find out,” said Lindy, “you will tell me, won’t you, Mr. Sawyer?”

“Yes,” said Quincy, “unless I am requested to keep it a secret.”

“But you wouldn’t keep it from me, their own daughter,” said Lindy.

“Well,” he replied, “I don’t think it at all likely that they will inform me; but I promise to tell you if I learn who it is and am not bound in any way to keep the information secret.”

“And will you tell me just as soon as you know?” persisted Lindy.

“In less than twenty-four hours from the time I learn the name you shall hear it from my own lips,” he replied.

“Thank you,” said Lindy.  “Would you like to see father and mother?  Father has been quite sick for a few days and they are in their own room.  I will go up and tell them you are coming.”

Quincy was left in the room.  That gossip about Miss Putnam could not be true.  Gossip said she was ashamed of her father and mother, and yet she had invited him to go up and see them.  What a pretty girl she was, well educated and with a hundred thousand dollars; such a beautiful singer and their voices blended so nicely together.  How pleased his mother and sisters would be if he should bring home a wife like her.  On the wall hung an oil portrait of her, evidently painted within a short time.  He sat looking at it as Lindy opened the door.

Before he could remove his eyes from the picture, Lindy had noticed his fixed gaze at it and smiled brightly.

“Mother would be delighted to see you.”

Lindy rang a small bell that was on a table.  In a moment Samanthy entered the room.

“Samantha, please show Mr. Sawyer to mother’s room.  Will you excuse me, Mr. Sawyer, if I am not here to say good-by to you after you have seen mother?  I am going to the city this morning and there—­” looking out of the window—­“here comes Abner Stiles; he is going to drive me over to Eastborough.  Did you ever meet Mr. Stiles, Mr. Sawyer?”