"He hasn't hurried himself about it, has he?" said Quincy; "but why did he come to you?"
"That's the strange part of it," Alice replied, "He said he thoughtlessly picked up a magazine at a hotel where he was staying, and his eye fell upon my story, How He Lost Both Name and Fortune. He read it, and sought me out, to ask if it were fiction, or whether it was founded on some true incident. He was quite disappointed when I told him it was entirely a work of the imagination."
"Did he say what hotel?" asked Quincy.
"No," replied Alice; "but why are you so interested in a total stranger?"
Then Quincy told the story of the broken envelope—the little piece of cloth—and the name, Linda Fernborough.
"I must find him at once," said he, "for I have an impression that his daughter must have been Lindy Putnam's real mother. You gave me my reward, Alice, before my quest was successful, but I gave my word to find her for you, and I shall not consider myself fully worthy of you till that word is kept."
"But what did your father and mother say?" broke in Aunt Ella.
"My father took me to task," began Quincy, "for not being present at the reception, but I told him I had to see Culver on some political business. Then he remarked that I missed a very pleasant evening. He complimented Aunt Ella, here, for her skill as an entertainer, and expressed his surprise that Bruce Douglas, instead of being a young man, was a young and very beautiful woman. Yes, Aunt Ella, he actually called my wife here a very beautiful young woman."
"That is a capital beginning!" cried Aunt Ella. "Go on, Quincy."
"In order to continue the conversation, I ventured the remark that Bruce Douglas came from an ordinary country family and one not very well off; for which aspersion, I humbly ask your pardon, Mrs. Sawyer. Father replied that he thought that I must have been misinformed; that Bruce Douglas was worth fifty thousand dollars in her own right, and he added that she would become a very wealthy woman if she kept up her literary activity."