to have get back to you are right out of the whole cloth--"
"What's the use of setting up your cranky opinions against the hard
facts? The plain truth is that everybody who ever heard of Stanhope is
going to give you the cold shoulder for a dog; we can depend absolutely
on that."
But Varney had his own reasons for depending on nothing of the sort.
"You've been imposed upon, Peter. In fact, one of the population mistook
me for the author last night, and instead of giving me the cold
shoulder, as you say, she seemed to think that being Stanhope was the
best credentials that a man could have."
"She? Who're you talking about?"
"I'm talking about Uncle Elbert's daughter, Miss Mary Carstairs. I had
the pleasure of meeting her last night."
"The devil you did!" cried Peter, laughing with astonishment. "You
certainly walk off with the prize for prompt results. How in the world
did you manage it?"
Varney told him succinctly how he had managed it.
"Fine! Fine! Honestly, I was getting afraid that you never could do it
at all, with the rotten reputation they've pinned on you here. Good
enough! Still it's absurd to cite the opinion of a little child in a
matter like this."
"It depends upon what you call a little child, doesn't it? Miss
Carstairs is nineteen years old."
Peter straightened in his chair with a jerk, and stared at him as though
one or the other had suddenly gone mad.
"_Nineteen_! Why, I thought she was twelve."
"So did I."
"Why, how in Sam Hill did you ever make such an asinine mistake?"
Varney gave an impatient laugh.
"What difference does that make now? My impression was that the
separation took place about eight years ago. It may have been twelve. My
other impression was that the girl was about four at the time. She may
have been eight instead. If it's of any interest to you, I should say
that the mistake was natural enough. Besides, Uncle Elbert rather helped
it along."
"Uncle Elbert rather lied to you--that's what he did," said Peter with
the utmost quietness.
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