"Do you remember a man at home named Jasper Suggs?"
"Are you speaking of my old home in Salem or of—of another place?"
"The place where I was born," he said, succinctly.
"I have never heard the name before," she said. "Why do you ask?"
"There is a man in this neighbourhood,—a rascal, I am told,—who says he lived there twenty years ago."
She eyed him narrowly. "Well,—go on! What has he to say about me?"
"Nothing, so far as I know. I have not talked with him. It came to me in a roundabout way. He is staying with a man named Hawk, down near the Wea." "He keeps pretty company," was all she said in response to this.
"I have been told that he would like to see a daguerreotype of my father some time, just to make sure whether he was the Gwynne he used to know."
"Has he ever seen you, Kenneth Gwynne?" She appeared to be absolutely unconcerned.
"No."