“Me?” Ada gasped. “Me? What do you mean? He didn’t even know my name.”
“Yes, he did. He found it out quite easily. Yes, my dear young lady. You will now be almost as wealthy as if your father had never failed.”
“Oh, stop a minute,” Ada cried, “till I can really understand it. Am I the milliner’s girl that was mentioned in the papers? Oh, I’m quite, quite certain you have made some mistake. Do have pity on me, sir; I have suffered so much,” and she put up her hand to her head and swayed a little backwards and forwards.
“Oh, please don’t faint, my dear young lady. I am no ladies’ man, and I don’t know what to do.”
“No, I will not faint,” replied Ada. “It is really wonderful what a girl can bear. But I hope you are not deceiving me.”
“I am quite sure I am not, if you are not deceiving me, and personating Ada Nicoli. I wish I could have broken it to you more gently; but I am no ladies’ man.”
“You have done it very kindly,” the girl said, with a great sob of joy in her throat, “only I wish the old man was alive, that I could thank him, and love him a little. He was very lonely, I think.”
“Yes, he was very lonely,” the lawyer said, “and it is strange what an impression you made upon him.”
“I don’t see how I could,” Ada replied simply. “I never did anything.”
“I think I can understand,” the lawyer said with a touch of gallantry which showed that he was not such a poor ladies’ man as he had asserted, bringing a pretty flush to her cheek.