The suit which Ben had put on was of fine imported cloth, and evidently expensive.

It fitted marvelously well as Ben could see for himself. It was better than the suit he had purchased in Boston, and which was now half worn.

When he was dressed he stepped into the adjoining room.

Mrs. Harcourt regarded him with evident satisfaction.

“The suit fits you admirably,” she said. “It is very becoming.”

“That is what I don’t understand,” said Ben. “How could you select a suit for me before you knew me?”

The lady smiled.

“Suppose I say that I looked for a boy to match the suit? It shows that I have a correct eye, does it not?”

“Yes, madam.”

Ben had still to submit to a critical inspection. “Your shoes need polishing,” the lady said. “Go down below and get a shine. You will find a bootblack in the lower part of the hotel. Have you change?”

“Yes, madam.”

“Say ‘yes, mother.’ It is as well that you should get used to the name.”

“But I have a mother. Won’t it do as well to call you aunt?”

“No; bear in mind that you are acting. On the stage people are husbands and wives, mothers and sons, for the occasion only.”

“All right. I will look upon you as a stage mother then.”

“Yes, but the illusion must be kept—during our engagement.”

“I will remember.”

“Now go down-stairs and come back with better looking shoes.”

Ben went below and had his shoes blacked. When the operation was ended he went up-stairs.

He found Mrs. Harcourt dressed for the street.

“Ring the bell, Edwin,” she said, “or rather go down yourself and order a cab.”

Ben started a little at the unfamiliar name. Then he smiled as he reflected that he was playing a part. “All right, mother,” he said.

“Good, Edwin. I see you are working into your part.”

In five minutes they were rattling up Fifth Avenue in a cab. The driver, who had his instructions, turned into East Fifty-seventh Street, and paused in front of a handsome brown stone house.

“Is Mr. Anderson in?” asked the lady.

“Yes, ma’am, but he isn’t feeling well. I don’t know if he can see you.”

“Nonsense!” exclaimed the lady sharply. “Tell him his niece, Maria Harcourt, has just arrived from Europe and wishes to see him.”

“Very well, ma’am,” said the girl, overawed, “I’ll tell him.”

She went up-stairs and quickly returned, saying, “He will see you.”

“Of course he will. Edwin, you may stay here until I return, unless you are sent for.”

“All right, mother.”

Ben was about to omit the designation “Mother,” but a quick glance from Mrs. Harcourt showed that she expected him to use it.

We will follow Mrs. Harcourt up-stairs.

In a room fitted up as a library, sat, or rather reclined, in an easy-chair, an old man evidently quite feeble. He essayed to rise, but Mrs. Harcourt moving forward rapidly prevented him.

“No, Uncle Henry,” she said, “don’t get up.”

She bent forward and just touched his chin with her lips.

“I am glad to see you, Mamie,” he said. “Have you just returned from Europe?”

“Yes, uncle.”

“Have you brought the boy with you?”

“Yes, uncle; he is down-stairs.”

“Didn’t I hear that he was sick with typhoid fever somewhere in—in——”

“Geneva. Yes, uncle, my poor Edwin was very sick, but fortunately he recovered and is now the picture of health.”

“Basil was under the impression that he was dead.”

“It was for the interest of Basil to report so, Uncle Henry.”

“I don’t think he had any reason to misrepresent, Maria.”

“If Edwin should die, Basil’s income would be increased by five thousand dollars, and the Mordaunts would profit also.”

“True, but——”

“Well, we won’t discuss the matter. I will try to think as well of him as I can. The fact is, however, that Edwin is alive and well. If you will give me an order on your bankers for the last six months’ income I shall be glad.”

“Can I not see the boy?”

“Certainly, Uncle Henry, but promise me not to keep him long, as I have to take him to get some clothes.”

“Very well, Maria. I only wish to see him. I don’t feel well enough for a prolonged interview.”

“First, then, Uncle Henry, write me a letter to your bankers, asking them to pay the boy’s income now due, and you may as well tell them to remit regularly without further instructions, as I don’t want to trouble you every time.”

“Very well, Maria.”

When this business was over, Mrs. Harcourt went down-stairs, where she found Ben waiting patiently for her return.

“Are you tired of waiting, Edwin?” she said playfully.

“Oh no.”

“No, what?”

“Mother,” said Ben a little awkwardly. He had not yet accustomed himself to his new part.

“Now, Edwin, listen attentively to what I say. I am going to take you up-stairs to see an old gentleman, an uncle of mine, in fact, who is, between ourselves, rather feeble in intellect. Whatever he asks you answer in such a way as to humor him, otherwise he will become violent. For instance he may ask you about traveling in Europe, perhaps about being sick. Fall into his humor, and don’t let him suspect that you think him queer.”

“All right—mother.”

“Remember, I trust to your discretion.”

“I will do as well as I can. What is the name of the gentleman?”

“Mr. Anderson. I call him my uncle Henry. Now follow me.”

Ben followed Mrs. Harcourt up the broad staircase, and into the presence of the frail old gentleman. Mr. Anderson looked up as they entered the room and signed for Ben to approach.

“Come here, my boy,” he said. “I have but little eyesight left. I need to have you near me.”

Ben approached and stood beside the easy-chair.

“Why, you are looking fine,” said the old man in some surprise. “You don’t look as if you had been sick.”

“No, sir.”

“You feel perfectly well, then, in spite of your recent sickness?” “Yes, sir.”

“I am very glad. And you enjoyed traveling?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You are very well grown. I did not expect to find you so large.”

“He has grown rapidly, Uncle Henry,” said Mrs. Harcourt.

“Basil would be glad to see you. He thought you were dead!”

“He looks very much alive, doesn’t he, Uncle Henry?”

“Yes, yes. And so you enjoyed Europe, did you, Edwin?”

“Yes, sir.”

Ben felt a little awkward as he said this, but he remembered that the old gentleman was feeble-minded and felt that he was justified in humoring the delusion.

“Won’t you stay to lunch, Maria?” asked Mr. Anderson.

“I am sorry we can’t do so, uncle, but Edwin and I have some calls to make.”

“Where are you staying?”

“At the Fifth Avenue Hotel.”

“I should be glad to have you stay here. The house is large enough.” “I wouldn’t for the world interfere with your quiet ways, uncle. Remember that you are an invalid, and need to have things quiet around you. Edwin is a boy of a lively temperament, and he will feel more comfortable at the hotel.”

“No doubt you are right, Maria. Shall you stay long in the city?”

“My plans are not formed yet, Uncle Henry, but I will apprise you of them when I have made up my mind. And now I must really say good morning.”

“Good morning, Maria. Good morning, Edwin.”

Ben shook the old man’s hand, and followed Mrs. Harcourt out of the room.

“Well?” said the lady interrogatively. “What do you think of him?”

“He didn’t seem to me feeble-minded.”

“Probably not. He was unduly quiet. He has strange delusions, however. Last night he fancied himself to be Christopher Columbus. I don’t know if he has got over it yet.”

“He seems to be a very pleasant old man.”

“Yes, he was in a pleasant mood. Perhaps when you next see him it may be different. Now let us go to the carriage. I am going to Wall Street.”