"That Mr. Dellogg isn't—" resumed Anna-Felicitas with determination, "well, that he isn't alive?"
"Alive?" repeated the driver. He let his hand drop heavily on the window-sill. "If that don't beat all," he said, staring at her. "What do you come his funeral for, then?"
"His funeral?"
"Yes, if you don't know that he ain't?"
"Ain't—isn't what?"
"Alive, of course. No, I mean dead. You're getting me all tangled up."
"But we haven't."
"But we didn't."
"We had a letter from him only last month."
"At least, an uncle we've got had."