"Make of what?" I asked.
"That girl!" he exclaimed testily.
"If you insist, I must avow that she's adorable, nothing else."
"Don't be a fool! You knew Raymond Bashford much better than I did, and you know perfectly well he never married a young girl of that sort! Those women are playing a trick, and I'm surprised that you don't see through it."
"My uncle was a man of taste and a gentleman," I answered deliberately. "There's nothing in the least improbable in his being infatuated with a young woman of charm and wit like this girl. And it is hardly profitable or decent to speculate as to her interest in him. You mustn't forget that Uncle Bash was an unusual man, a man with whom a young girl might easily fall in love without reference to his age or money or anything else."
"I tell you it won't do," he insisted. "If either of those women at the house is Raymond Bashford's widow, it's the one who calls herself Farnsworth."
"You did your best to convict them of fraud the first jump out of the box," I said, laughing at the recollection of his confusion when I introduced him.
"My mistake was a natural one," he said defensively. "They're playing a game of some kind and it's no laughing matter, but it won't take long to find out what they're up to."
"You'll hardly go the length of having them arrested as imposters, Torrence—not without some data to work on!"
"Certainly not. You seem to be hitting it off with both of them, but I advise you to be on guard. Are you sure your uncle never sent you his wife's photograph? That would have been a perfectly natural thing to do."