"Twenty-two."
"I'm twenty-five--isn't it awful? How old are you?"
"I regret to say that I am only twenty-three. I'm afraid you'll regard me as only a kid."
"Shall I? I don't think I shall. You don't look as if you were 'only a kid.' I've been what papa calls 'finishing my education.' Fancy! at my time of life! If my mother had been living I shouldn't have stood it; but, as you know, she died when I was only a tiny tot; and I knew dad--so I lay, comparatively, low. I've been living here and there and everywhere with the queerest duennas, though they really have been dears; and now and then I have had a good time, though I've had some frightfully dull ones. But at last I have struck. You know we've got a house in Russell Square?" Again he shook his head. "What do you know?"
"So far as you are concerned--nothing. I know that I'm clerk to my uncle, and that's all."
"Well, we have got a house in Russell Square. It's been shut up all these years--papa's been living in rooms. But I've made him refurbish it, and he's made it really nice--when he does undertake to do a thing he does it well--and I'm installed in it as mistress. Of course, I know Russell Square's out of the way, but they are good houses, and, if I can only manage dad, I'm going to have a real good time."
"Did he tell you about me?"
"Not he. Don't I tell you that I only discovered your existence by the merest accident? Do you remember a boy named Henderson who was at school with you?"
"Alfred Henderson--very well; we moved together from form to form."
"I know his sister Cissie; we were at school together, years ago, and she knows you. She told me the other day that you were in your uncle's office in St. Paul's Churchyard, and that his name was Graham Patterson, and was he any relation of mine. I nearly had a fit. When dad came home I bombarded him with questions---- What have you done to offend him?"