“You've heard me talk about Chris, our postman, haven't you, who came over on the steamer with us?”
“Yes, certainly.”
“Well, then, if you will believe it, it was just by his grandfather's cottage, just outside of Nuneham, where the accident happened, and they're the people who've been caring for him; and then when Donald went down there to work on the farm, of course he discovered him; and then when I went down the other day from Oxford, I discovered him too, and poor Ted's had a very hard time to keep his secret.”
“But Harold was with you, Marie-Celeste,” said Dorothy eagerly; “does he know, too?”
“No, Harold doesn't know; it's all on his account that there's any secret about it now; you know Ted wants to prove to Harold that he means to do the right thing before he lets him know the worst there is about him. He means to tell him everything some day.” And then Marie-Celeste proceeded to narrate at length her unexpected encounter with Ted under the apple-tree, so that Dorothy gradually came to a clear comprehension of how matters stood, and Marie-Celeste was free once more to let Donald speak for himself.
“'And what we came up to London for,' continued the letter, 'was to see a gentleman about some business matters; and the gentleman we wanted to see was Mr. Belden—your rich old bachelor friend you know—and who did he prove to be but a Mr. Selden, Mr. Theodore's own uncle? His name was printed Belden by mistake on the passenger list, and when Mr. Selden made friends with you that first day out, and found out that you were going to visit his nephews at Windsor, he didn't tell anyone it was wrong, because he didn't want you or your father or mother to know who he was.'”
“What did I tell you, Marie-Celeste,” interrupted Dorothy with a little air of superiority, “that time you told me about him in St. George's? I knew it must be the same man.”
“But, Miss Dorothy, ever since this letter came I've been wondering why he didn't want us to know who he was.”
“Because he has chosen forever so long not to have anything to do with any of his relations, for fear they'd bother him, I suppose.”
“Well, he's gotten over that,” said Marie-Celeste; “you'll see when I read his letter.” And Dorothy looked as though she thought wonders would never end, which was exactly the way Marie-Celeste wanted her to look, and would have been vastly disappointed if she had not.