At that the old man began to throw himself about and make horrible faces in the dark.
"I expect you are," Boodles went on. "Mr. Bellamie is ashamed of me. He says I'm not well-born, and I have no name. Aubrey told me this afternoon."
"The liar," cried old Weevil. Then he began to cackle in his own grotesque way. He couldn't help being amused at the idea that he should be calling Mr. Bellamie a liar. "How did he know? How did he find that out?" he muttered. "Nobody could have told him. He must have guessed it."
"You are my grandfather," Boodles murmured. "Now you must tell me all about my father and mother. I've got to let Mr. Bellamie know," she went on innocently.
"I told him. I told him the whole story," cried Weevil. "He sat in this room for an hour, and I gave him the whole history. What a forgetful man he must be. I will write it out and send it him."
"Tell me," said Boodles. "How could you say that you picked me up on your doorstep, and never knew where I had come from?"
"It's a long story, my darling. I don't fancy I can remember it now." The old man wondered where he had put that precious piece of paper.
"Don't squeeze my foot so. Who was my mother? Do you really know who my mother was?"
"Tita, we called her that for short, Katherine, Mary—no, that's you. I've got it all written down somewhere. I must tell her the same story. Shall I light the lamp and find it?"
"You must remember. Are you my mother's father?" she asked impatiently.