Before she could say anything, however, Milton had returned with the sheet of paper on which “Weepy Mary” had written and handed it to Bennett.

Bennett read it with uncontrolled astonishment.

“What is it?” demanded Elaine.

He handed it to her and she read: 

“As the lawful wife and widow of Taylor Dodge, I demand my son’s rights and my own.

“Mrs. Taylor dodge.”

Elaine gasped at it.

“She—­my father’s wife!” she exclaimed, “What effrontery!  What does she mean?”

Bennett hesitated.

“Tell me,” Elaine cried, “Is there—­can there be anything in it?  No—­no—­there isn’t!”

Bennett spoke in a low tone.  “I have heard a whisper of some scandal or other connected with your father—­but—­” He paused.

Elaine was first shocked, then indignant.

“Why—­such a thing is absurd.  Show the woman in!”

“No—­please—­Miss Dodge.  Let me deal with her.”

By this time Elaine was furious.

“Yes—­I will see her.”

She pressed the button on Bennett’s desk and Milton responded.

“Milton, show the—­the woman in,” she ordered, “and that boy, too.”

As Milton turned to crook his finger at “Weepy Mary,” she nodded surreptitiously and dug her fingers sharply into “son’s” ribs.

“Yell—­you little fool,—­yell,” she whispered.

Obedient to his “mother’s” commands, and much to Milton’s disgust, the boy started to cry in close imitation of his elder.

Elaine was still holding the paper in her hands when they entered.

“What does all this mean?” she demanded.

“Weepy Mary,” between sobs, managed to blurt out, “You are Miss Elaine Dodge, aren’t you?  Well, it means that your father married me when I was only seventeen and this boy is his son—­your half brother.”

“No—­never,” cried Elaine vehemently, unable to restrain her disgust.  “He never married again.  He was too devoted to the memory of my mother.”

“Weepy Mary” smiled cynically.  “Come with me and I will show you the church records and the minister who married us.”

“You will?” repeated Elaine defiantly.  “Well, I’ll just do as you ask.  Mr. Bennett shall go with me.”

“No, no, Miss Dodge—­don’t go.  Leave the matter to me,” urged Bennett.  “I will take care of her.  Besides, I must be in court in twenty minutes.”

Elaine paused, but she was thoroughly aroused.

“Then I will go with her myself,” she cried defiantly.

In spite of every objection that Bennett made, “Weepy Mary,” her son, and Elaine went out to call a taxicab to take them to the railroad station where they could catch a train to the little town where the woman asserted she had been married.

. . . . . . . .

Meanwhile, before a little country church in the town, a closed automobile had drawn up.