"I don't know, sir," was the only reply, for Helen did not care to talk to him.
But she saw that he was an elderly man, his hair was streaked with gray, and in clothing and manner he bore the impress of apparent respectability.
"What is your name?" he inquired.
"Helen."
"What!" with another start. "Your name is Helen, is it?" recovering himself. "Helen what, my girl?"
"Helen Morris," was the reply, for she had now for a long time used the name of her benefactors as her own.
Again the gentleman glanced keenly at her, and then moved away slowly, muttering to himself:
"Morris—Morris! I can't understand it. That likeness is wonderful, and cannot exist as a mere accident. I must investigate this, and I'd bet anything that that is not her name."
The gentleman entered a large building on Broadway, ascended in the elevator, and opened the door of an office, on which was lettered the legend:
"Joseph Brown,
Attorney at Law."