"Was the baby a boy or girl, Joe?"
"Girl."
The Duchess did not so much as blink. "How old would she be by this
time?"
"Eighteen."
"What was her name?"
"Mary--after her mother. But of course I ordered it to be changed. I
don't know what her name is now."
The Duchess pressed closer.
"What became of her, Joe?"
A glow began to come into the somber eyes of Joe Ellison. "I told you
her mother was a fine woman, and she never knew anything bad about me.
I wanted my girl to grow up like her mother. I wanted her to have as
good a chance as any of those nice girls over in Jersey--I wanted her
never to know any of the lot I've known--I wanted her never to have
the stain of knowing her father was a crook--I wanted her never to
know even who her father was."
"How did you manage it?"
"Her mother had left a little fortune, about twenty-five thousand--
twelve or fifteen hundred a year. I turned the money and the girl over
to my best pal--and the squarest pal a man ever had--the only one I'd
let know about my Jersey life. I told him what to do. She was an
awfully bright little thing; at a year and a half, when I saw her
last, she was already talking. She was to be brought up among nice,
simple people--go to a good school--grow up to be a nice, simple girl.
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