“Why?” She slackened her pace instinctively, and then, seeing that they were just entering Fifth Avenue, walked on more briskly, turning down in the direction of the Square.
Ralston told her in a few words what he had learned from the lawyer.
“You see,” he concluded, “there’s no way out of it. And, of course, anybody may go to the Bureau of Vital Statistics and look at the records.”
“But is anybody likely to?” asked Katharine. “Is the Clerk of the Records, or whatever you call him, the sort of man who would be likely to know papa, for instance? That’s rather important.”
“No. I shouldn’t think so. But everybody knows all about you. You might as well be the President of the United States as be a Lauderdale, as far as doing anything incognito is concerned.”
“There’s only one President at a time, and there are twenty-three Lauderdales in the New York directory besides ourselves, and six of them are Alexanders.”
“Are there? How did you happen to know that?” asked Ralston.
“Grandpapa looked them up the other day. He’s always looking up things, you know—when he’s not asleep, poor dear!”
“That certainly makes a difference.”
“Of course it does,” said Katharine. “No doubt the Clerk of the Records has seen the name constantly. Besides, I don’t suppose he does the work himself. He only signs things. He probably looks at the books once a month, or something of that sort.”