Caroline, reveling in conspiracy, lay
quiet, wondering who these people were and what they were talking
about.
"You are perfectly welcome to anything I know about Miss Aitken,"
Bluelegs continued, puffing at a fresh cigarette and throwing the
old one through the lattice at Caroline's feet.
"Her brother was a pronounced epileptic--died in a fit. I have seen
the doctor's certificate. She was greatly worried over his death,
and the manner of it, and showed signs of incipient melancholia."
"As how?" interrupted Graycoat.
"Don't know," said Bluelegs briefly. "Uncle said so. Wouldn't speak
to anybody; cried all day; off her feed--that sort of thing. Very
obstinate."
"Um," Graycoat muttered thoughtfully, "so am I. But I'd hate to be
shut up on that account."
"So her uncle," proceeded Bluelegs, "wishing to save her, if
possible, from her brother's fate, decided to--er--take steps in
that direction and--and here she is."
"So I see," said Graycoat. "Was the brother's epilepsy hereditary?"
"I believe not," Bluelegs returned. "I believe the young gentlemen
inherited a little too much a little too soon for his best good, and
hit up a rather fast pace; his constitution wasn't the best."
"Did she know about all this?"
"I believe she did.
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