"Where is he?"
"At his store, I expect."
"Is Mrs. Thompson at home?"
"I don't know. I'll see. Who shall I say wants to see her?"
"Randy Thompson."
Randy was left standing in the elegantly furnished hallway while the servant departed. He could not help but contrast such elegance with his own modest home.
"Come into the drawing room," said the servant, briefly, on returning, and ushered him into the finest apartment he had ever entered.
Here he was kept waiting for fully quarter of an hour. Then a showily dressed woman swept into the room with a majestic air and fixed a cold stare upon our hero.
"Are you my aunt?" he asked, somewhat disconcerted by his chilling reception.
"Really, I couldn't say—not having seen you before," she answered.