"This," she said, holding out one of them, "is not the certificate of your birth. This person, Paul Lowther, is no doubt my father's lost son."
"No doubt," said Paul, dropping his head.
"But he is thirty years of age—see! You are no more than twenty-eight."
"If I could but prove that, it would be enough," he said.
"I can prove it, and I will!" she said.
"You! How?"
"Wait until to-morrow, and see," she said.
He had put one arm about her waist, and was taking her to the door.
She stopped. "I can guess what the black lie has been," she whispered.
"Now, driver, up and away."