"How did I come to you?" asked Boodles.
"It's a long story," he faltered. "I can't tell you now because I am feeling so tired. I shall have to think about it all night," he muttered.
"Why did you make up that queer story about finding me one night at your door?"
"That is true. Your father chose that way of sending you to me," he said lamely. "I kept the truth from you because I was afraid you might not want to stay with me if you knew everything. Your father wished you to be kept in ignorance. I was going to tell you on your twenty-first birthday."
"You needn't have told me you thought I was a poor woman's child," she said reproachfully.
"I am very sorry, darling. I won't do it again," the poor old creature promised.
Boodles jumped up, pattered to the window, and flung aside the curtains. The room was flooded at once with moonlight, and she could feel the wind coming through the chinks. Weevil looked up patiently, and she saw his weary old eyes and wrinkled face, ghastly in that light. It struck her he was looking very worn and ill.
"You are dreadful tired," she said very tenderly.
"Yes, Boodles, the noise of the wind makes me feel very tired."
"I am not Boodles now. That was my baby-name. I am Tita. And the others—Katherine, Mary—what are the rest?"