"An earl, is he? That stands pretty high, I guess, on your side. Any chance of your father inheriting?"
This time Win allowed herself the luxury of a laugh. What a strange old man! And this was Mr. Balm of Gilead's father!
She was still in the dark as to why he had sent for her. But it must be on account of the fire. His curiosity was very funny. In any one except Peter's father she would have considered it ridiculous. Maybe he wanted to work up a good "story" in the newspapers. Very likely it could be turned into an "ad" for the Hands if the cousin of an English earl had saved a fellow employee from burning up, and it would be still more thrilling if the heroine might some day turn into a haughty Lady Winifred Something. She shook her head, looking charming. Even old Peter, staring so intently, must have admitted that.
"There's not the remotest chance," she replied. "Our cousin, Lord Glenellen, has six sons. Four are married and having more sons every year. I don't know how many there are. And I'm sure that they've forgotten our existence."
"Well, there ain't much show for you in that connection!"
Mr. Rolls reluctantly abandoned the earldom. "What's your father, anyhow?"
"A clergyman," said Win. "A poor clergyman, or I should never have seen America."
"I suppose you'd have married some fellow over there. What did you do for a living on your side?"
"
I hadn't begun to do anything till I engaged with Nadine—the dressmaker, you know—to be one of her models on board the Monarchic so as to get my passage free. I thought I should be sure to make a fortune in New York."