"Nor any good of it either, perhaps—eh, uncle?" archly put in Capitola.
"Silence, you monkey! Well, young man, well, what is the meaning of all this?" exclaimed old Hurricane, impatiently.
"Oh, your pardon, sir; this was sudden. But you must know I had once a relative of that name—an uncle."
"And have still, Herbert; and have still, lad. Come, come, boy; I am not sentimental, nor romantic, nor melodramatic, nor nothing of that sort. I don't know how to strike an attitude and exclaim, 'Come to my bosom, sole remaining offspring of a dear departed sister' or any of the like stage playing. But I tell you, lad, that I like your looks; and I like what I have heard of you from this girl, and another old woman, now dead; and so—But sit down, sit down! demmy, sir, sit down, and we'll talk over the walnuts and the wine. Capitola, take your seat, too," ordered the old man, throwing himself into his chair. Herbert also drew his chair up.
Capitola resumed her seat, saying to herself:
"Well, well, I am determined not to be surprised at anything that happens, being perfectly clear in my own mind that this is all nothing but a dream. But how pleasant it is to dream that I have found a rich uncle and he has found a nephew, and that nephew is Herbert Greyson! I do believe that I had rather die in my sleep than wake from this dream!"
"Herbert," said old Hurricane, as soon as they were gathered around the table—"Herbert, this is my ward, Miss Black, the daughter of a deceased friend. Capitola, this is the only son of my departed sister."
"Hem-m-m! We have had the pleasure of being acquainted with each other before," said Cap, pinching up her lip and looking demure.
"But not of really knowing who 'each other' was, you monkey. Herbert, fill your glass. Here's to our better acquaintance."
"I thank you, sir. I never touch wine," said the young man.