"That sounds mysterious. But I remember you like mysteries."
"'Sure I do,' as Mrs. Slawson would say. I like mysteries for the fun of clearing them up. It's to clear up a mystery I'm going to Boston."
Katherine withheld the question on her lips.
"You don't ask what mystery."
"If you wanted me to know, you'd tell me."
"Well, then—I'm going to discover the secret of me life. In other words, I'm going to see if I can get a line on my grandfather—the unfortunate gentleman—no, of course he couldn't have been a gentleman, because he was a bailiff!—the unfortunate beggar who got himself disliked by his employer, and Madam Crewe. Personally, I've no social use for defunct forbears. It's a bit curious, because I'm a Bostonian. But professionally I'm all right on them. They have their uses scientifically. If my grandfather had a bug—I mean germ (disease or vice germ) I needn't necessarily inherit that particular insect, but there's no denying that if it happens along, I'm more open to infection, than a fellow whose grandad hadn't specialized as an entomologist. I've a notion I'd like to read my title clear. So I'm going to Boston to dig up dead deeds—in both senses, and see what I have back of me."
"I'd much rather see what I have ahead," Katherine laughed mirthlessly.
Dr. Ballard's chin went up with a jerk.
"Oh, I'm not afraid of what's before me. I'm willing to stand and face the future. If a fellow's straight goods on his own account, he has nothing to fear. He'll win out, somehow. But I wouldn't care to look forward, if I'd lied, or was a coward, or taken what belonged to some other fellow, or had any other sort of dirty rag of memory trailing after me. You never can tell when such a thing will trip you up. I say, you're not cold this broiling night, are you?"
"No. Why?"