Mr. Alden was in excellent spirits, and greeted his son with effusion. He was glad to see him looking so well; hoped his affairs were prospering as regarded both the paintings and his relations to Floy.
Then, hardly waiting for a reply, he went on:
“I’ve had a delightful time; got back this morning; landed from the train at the Centennial; spent the day there; and, by the way, I met a young thing out there this afternoon who is wonderfully like Floy. Took her for her at first sight, and made a fool of myself by rushing up and offering to shake hands. Have been cogitating on the subject, and come to the conclusion that it may be a younger sister—half-sister, you know—supposing the mother lived and married again. What do you think?”
“Floy has a sister—two of them, in fact,” returned the son dryly, “and I think it altogether probable that the girl you speak of was one of them.”
“You don’t say!” cried Mr. Alden in astonishment. “And she’s found her mother, has she?”
“She has.”
“And sisters too?”
“And brother and step-father; there’s a whole family.”
“Whew! So many more to inherit the old Madame’s estate! Bad thing for Floy that!”
“She doesn’t think so,” retorted Espy indignantly. “I never saw her look so unutterably happy, and I honor her for it.”