"Ah! still going back to Miss Travenion?" laughs the lawyer.
"You know her name then?" cries the captain, suddenly.
"Yes," says the other. "I happened to be impatient for your coming. The evening was sultry. I walked out of the room, looked down the stairs and saw your act of gallantry."
"Ah, since you know her name, you must know her!"
"Quite well; I am her trustee."
"Her trustee!" cries Harry Lawrence impulsively. "Her guardian? You will introduce me to her? This is luck," and before the old gentleman can interrupt him, the Westerner has seized his hand and given it a squeeze which he remembers for some five minutes.
"I said her trustee; not her guardian," answers the lawyer cautiously. "If, as your manner rather indicates, you have designs upon the young lady's heart, you had better get a reply from her father."
"Her father is living then?"
"Certainly. Last January you could have seen him any afternoon in the windows of the Unity Club looking at the ladies promenading on the Avenue, just as he used to do when he lived here, and was a man about town, and club habitué and heavy swell. Ralph Travenion has gone West again, however, but I have not heard of his death."
"Then for what reason does his daughter need a trustee?"