"Oh! You know Mr. Chesterton!" I exclaimed in accents of relief. I'd quite forgotten Miss Million's dear old family lawyer. That nice old gentleman! If I wanted advice or help of course there was Mr. Chesterton to fall back on! I hadn't thought of him before.
"Know Mr. Chesterton? Sure thing," said the American. We had moved away from the churchyard railings and were strolling slowly towards the embankment now. "Why, Mr. Chesterton and I had a long, long heart-to-heart talk this afternoon, before I came on in the great trunk-searching act! I was just coming in to leave a card on my cousin, Miss Nellie Million, when I found myself one of the galaxy of beauty and talent that was going to make a thorough examination of you girls' things."
"Oh, were you?" I said lamely. I couldn't think what else to say. Too many things had been happening all day long!
I said: "Miss Million didn't know you were coming?
"Why, no! I guess she didn't suspect my existence, any more than I suspected hers until a few weeks ago," said Miss Million's cousin. (At last I found myself believing that he really was her cousin after all.) "Horrible shock to me, I can tell you, that my Uncle Sam was cherishing the thought of this little English niece of his all this time! Making up his mind to leave his pile to this girl. Meantime Hiram P. Jessop," here he tapped the grey-tweed jacket again, "had been looking upon himself as the heir-apparent!"
"Oh! You thought all that money was coming to you?" I said, half-amused, half-pityingly, for this was certainly the frankest, most boyish sort of young man I'd ever come across. "And you've lost it all on account of my mistress?"
"Say, doesn't that sound the queerest ever? A daisy little girl like you talking about some other girl as her 'mistress'!" rejoined my companion in a wondering tone. "Why, d'you know? When I saw you standing there in the sitting-room, in your black dress and that cute little apron and cap, I said to myself: 'If this isn't the image of some Society girl of the English upper class playing the Pretty Domestic part in some private theatricals where they rush you a quarter's salary, I guess, for half a look and a programme!' I said, if you'll pardon me: 'It's just the accent, just the look, just the manner.'"