“Miss Hayes, I—I believe?” he asked, after a moment’s hesitation.
“Yes; my name is Hayes.”
“You are the daughter of Desmond Hayes and my sister Gwendoline?”
“I am,” I acknowledged gravely.
“Then, my dear,” he said, taking my hand in his, “I have come to take you home.”
I gazed at him incredulously.
“You understand, don’t you, that I am your uncle? Your mother was my only sister—you are my nearest of kin, except Dolly. You are the image of my poor Gwen!”
And this sedate little gray-bearded gentleman, whom I had never spoken to before, drew me nearer to him and kissed me timidly.
“How did you find me out?” I asked as he sat down beside me.