The great banking and brokerage firm of Isham, Marvin & Co. had long managed successfully John Merrick’s vast fortune, and at his solicitation it gave Major Doyle a responsible position in its main office, with a salary that rendered him independent of his daughter’s suddenly acquired wealth and made him proud and self-respecting.

Money had no power to change the nature of the Doyles.  The Major remained the same simple, honest, courteous yet brusque old warrior who had won Uncle John’s love as a hard working book-keeper; and Patsy’s bright and sunny disposition had certain power to cheer any home, whether located in a palace or a hovel.

Never before in his life had Uncle John been so supremely happy, and never before had Aunt Jane’s three nieces had so many advantages and pleasures.  It was to confer still further benefits upon these girls that their eccentric uncle had planned this unexpected European trip.

His telegram to Elizabeth was characteristic: 

“Patsy, Louise and I sail for Europe next Tuesday.  Will you join us as my guest?  If so, take first train to New York, where I will look after your outfit.  Answer immediately.”

That was a message likely to surprise a country girl, but it did not strike John Merrick as in any way extraordinary.  He thought he could depend upon Beth.  She would be as eager to go as he was to have her, and when he had paid for the telegram he dismissed the matter from further thought.

Next morning Patsy reminded him that instead of going down town he must personally notify Louise Merrick of the proposed trip; so he took a cross-town line and arrived at the Merrick’s home at nine o’clock.

Mrs. Merrick was in a morning wrapper, sipping her coffee in an upper room.  But she could not deny herself to Uncle John, her dead husband’s brother and her only daughter’s benefactor (which meant indirectly her own benefactor), so she ordered the maid to show him up at once.

“Louise is still sweetly sleeping,” she said, “and won’t waken for hours yet.”

“Is anything wrong with her?” he asked, anxiously.

“Oh, dear, no! but everyone does not get up with the milkman, as you do, John; and the dear child was at the opera last night, which made her late in getting home.”

“Doesn’t the opera let out before midnight, the same as the theatres?” he asked.

“I believe so; but there is the supper, afterward, you know.”

“Ah, yes,” he returned, thoughtfully.  “I’ve always noticed that the opera makes folks desperately hungry, for they flock to the restaurants as soon as they can get away.  Singular, isn’t it?”

“Why, I never thought of it in that light.”

“But Louise is well?”

“Quite well, thank you.”

“That’s a great relief, for I’m going to take her to Europe with me next week,” he said.

Mrs. Merrick was so astonished that she nearly dropped her coffee-cup and could make no better reply than to stare blankly at her brother-in-law.