In the evening Uncle George pierced the veil. He looked unreal and over large as he stood before her.
"Theresa, I have found the very thing for you—not the thing I recommend, mind, but the thing you'll like."
"Lots of money?"
"A hundred a year."
"Oh, good! That's better than the Christian stipend you offered me."
"I'm afraid this will be anything but Christian."
"Oh, good! I mean—tell me about it."
He eyed her with the peculiar expression he kept for her, one hovering between a controlled frenzy and an amusement greater than his prejudices.
"Have you ever heard of Simon Smith?"
"No, but one wouldn't, would one?"