Miss Flora wore no head-covering. She wore one glove (wrong side out), and was carrying the other one. Her dress, evidently donned hastily for the street, was unevenly fastened, showing the topmost button without a buttonhole.
“Mr. Smith says it’s true,” triumphed Mellicent.
“How does he know? Who told him ’twas true?” demanded Miss Flora.
So almost accusing was the look in her eyes that Mr. Smith actually blinked a little. He grew visibly confused.
“Why—er—ah—the letter speaks for itself Miss Flora,” he stammered.
“But it can’t be true,” reiterated Miss Flora. “The idea of a man I never saw giving me a hundred thousand dollars like that!—and Frank and Jim, too!”
“But he’s your cousin—you said he was your cousin,” Mr. Smith reminded her. “And you have his picture in your album. You showed it to me.”
“I know it. But, my sakes! I didn’t know he knew I was his cousin. I don’t s’pose he’s got my picture in his album! But how did he know about us? It’s some other Flora Blaisdell, I tell you.”
“There, I never thought of that,” cried Jane. “It probably is some other Blaisdells. Well, anyhow, if it is, we won’t have to pay that inheritance tax. We can save that much.”
“Save! Well, what do we lose?” demanded her husband apoplectically.