“Caroline, I tell you I cannot answer these questions. He does wish to remain unknown, as I told you and your brother when we first learned of him and his claim. If I were to tell you I should break my faith with him.... You must excuse me; you really must.”
“Mr. Sylvester, perhaps you don’t need to tell me. Perhaps I can guess. Isn’t he my—”
“Caroline, I cannot—”
“Isn’t he my uncle, Elisha Warren?”
Sylvester was half way to the door, but she was in his path and looking him directly in the face. He hesitated.
“I thought so,” she said. “You needn’t answer, Mr. Sylvester; your face is answer enough. He is.”
She turned away, and, walking slowly to the chair from which she had arisen, sank into it.
“He is,” she repeated. “I knew it. I wonder that I didn’t know it from the very first. How could I have been so blind!”
The lawyer, nervous, chagrined, and greatly troubled, remained standing by the door. He did not know whether to go or stay. He took his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead.
“Whew!” he exclaimed. “Well, by—George!”