“It brings so much back,” he half whispered, “so much!” He was a fairly good actor, but Doris was not appreciative.

“So much that had better be left where it rests,” she said.  “I have learned that the present needs every energy—­the past can take care of itself.”

“You have had the real burden.”  Thornton meant to be magnanimous.  “I shall always be grateful for your splendid help at a time when so much was at stake.  Your goodness to my child——­” For a moment Thornton could not think whether the child was a girl or a boy.  He was confused and a bit alarmed.

Doris came to his assistance.

“Meredith’s little girl was all that made the first bitter year possible for me.  I have done my best, George, my happiest best—­she is lovely; the most joyous thing you can imagine.  Remembering how much Meredith and I needed each other, I adopted a child at the same time I undertook the care of your baby—­the two are inseparable and wonderfully congenial.”

Thornton’s brow clouded.  He could not have described his sensations, but they were similar to those he had once experienced, standing alone in a dense Philippine thicket, and suddenly recalling that he was not popular with the natives.  He sensed a menace somewhere.

“You’re quite remarkable, Doris,” he said, “but was it altogether wise—­the adoption, I mean?  I suppose you know everything about the—­the child, but even so, the break now will be difficult for—­for everybody.”

Doris gave him a long, steady look.

“I know very little about the child I adopted,” she said.  “The poor waif was deserted, and as to the wrench now, why, life has taught me, also, George, to take what joy one can and be willing to pay for it.  We cannot afford to let a great blessing slip because we may have to do without it bye and bye.”

“But—­inheritance, Doris!  You, of all women, to undervalue that!  It was a bit risky, but of course while children are so young——­” Thornton paused and Doris broke in.

“Inheritance is such a tricky thing,” she said, looking out into the flower-filled garden, “it is such a clever masquerader.  Often it is like those insects that take upon themselves the colour of the leaf upon which they cling.  It isn’t what it seems, and when one really knows—­why, one can hardly be just, because of the injustice of inheritance.”

“Queer reasoning,” muttered Thornton.  “Why, that—­kid’s father might be——­ well, anything!” Why he said “father” would be hard to tell.

“Exactly!” agreed Doris.  “But when I did not know, I could be fair and unhampered.  It has paid—­the child is adorable.”

“Shows no—­no—­evil tendencies?” Thornton grew more and more restive.

“On the contrary—­only divine ones.”

“We’re all lucky.”  The man sighed, then spoke hurriedly:  “I’d like to see my little girl.  She is here—­of course?”

“Oh! yes.  I have never been separated from her.  I suppose—­you mean to——­” Doris paused.