"Kate! It isn't Kate," stammered the young man; and Miss Theodora, with a sudden revulsion of feeling, recalled many things that she had almost forgotten. Much that she had not understood was now explained. There was somebody, after all, whom Ernest cared for—and it wasn't Kate.
"Who is the young lady?" she asked with some dignity.
"Why, Eugenie. Haven't you heard me speak of Eugenie Kurtz?"
Miss Theodora shook her head.
"Of course," he said, "it isn't an engagement, or I would have told you all about it or asked your advice, but it's all so uncertain. Her father—"
"Who is her father?" asked Miss Theodora. "The name sounds familiar."
"Of course—you've seen it on his wagons, and I daresay you've been in his shop, too. He's really the chief man in the firm, for, although his partner's name stands first, Mr. Kurtz has really bought Brown out, all but a small share."
Then Miss Theodora remembered one of the best known retail shops in the city, whose growth from small beginnings was often quoted as a striking example of American energy. She remembered, too, that one partner—perhaps both—had been referred to as of humble origin. This remembrance came to her in a flash, and she took up Ernest's last words:
"Her father—"