“Want him?” repeated the incensed Miss Evans. “Want him? I tell you it's not Bert. How dare he come here and call me Nan?”
“You used not to mind it,” said Mr. Carter, plaintively.
“I tell you,” said Miss Evans, turning to her father and brother, “it's not Bert. Do you think I don't know?”
“Well, he ought to know who he is,” said her father, reasonably.
“Of course I ought,” said Mr. Carter, smiling at her. “Besides, what reason should I have for saying I am Bert if I am not?”
“That's a fair question,” said Jim, as the girl bit her lip. “Why should he?”
“Ask him,” said the girl, tartly.
“Look here, my girl,” said Mr. Evans, in ominous accents. “For four years you've been grieving over Bert, and me and Jim have been hunting high and low for him. We've got him at last, and now you've got to have him.”
“If he don't run away again,” said Jim. “I wouldn't trust him farther than I could see him.”
Mr. Evans sat and glowered at his prospective son-in-law as the difficulties of the situation developed themselves. Even Mr. Carter's reminders that he had come back and surrendered of his own free will failed to move him, and he was hesitating between tying him up and locking him in the attic and hiring a man to watch him, when Mr. Carter himself suggested a way out of the difficulty.