"You're quite sure of that?"
"I ought to be," she answered rather dryly. "I was a witness."
A young woman came up the walk from the street. She was a younger and more modern replica of Mrs. Rankin. The older lady introduced her.
"Daughter, this is Mr. Lane, the gentleman who called on Father the other day while we were away. Mr. Lane, my daughter Ellen." Briskly she continued, showing her daughter the picture of James Cunningham, Junior. "Did you ever see this man, dear?"
Ellen took one glance at it. "He's the man Father married the other day."
"When?" the mother asked.
"It was—let me see—about the last week in July. Why?"
"Married to who?" asked Mrs. Rankin colloquially.
"To that lovely Miss Harriman, of course."
The old lady wheeled on Kirby triumphantly. "Are you satisfied now that I'm in my right mind?" she demanded smilingly.