"They sound like two very important people," she said, wrinkling her forehead, "but I am afraid I have never heard of either of them."
"Neither had I until I got back yesterday," I returned. "Then I found a cable from them in my cabin telling me that my uncle was dead."
She gave a little exclamation of sympathy. "Oh, I am so sorry," she began. "I'm afraid——"
"It's quite all right," I interrupted cheerfully. "I never saw him in my life, and I believe he was several kinds of a blackguard. The only reason they wired to me was because I happen to be the next of kin, and as he died without making a will I suppose I come into his goods and chattels—if there are any to come into."
"But don't you know? Didn't they give you any details?"
I shook my head. "Nothing at all. I may be a millionaire, or he may have left me a parrot and an old suit of clothes. I should think the latter was much the more likely of the two, but Ross won't have it at any price. He says that he has got a kind of second sight about money matters, and that he's always felt I was born to be one of the idle rich."
She laughed easily. "I do hope he's right. Aren't you tremendously excited about it?"
"I am trying not to be," I said. "You see, the more one expects the greater the disappointment."
"Who was your uncle?" she asked, after a moment's silence. "Another namesake of the poet?"
"He wasn't a Dryden at all," I explained. "He was my mother's brother, and his name was Richard Jannaway."