norance. I must learn a great deal, still."
"You could never think such things again, could you?" Sinclair ventured; "not even in argument with me?" He mused, smiling. "It is odd, isn't it, that Elspeth never mentioned my name. There's no reason why you should have, but she might easily have spoken of me."
"Very curious," Joan agreed. "She often talked of you—always as 'my brother'—and Garth sometimes spoke of 'Uncle Brob.' They even said that you painted; but there are other artists in the world. How could I suspect it? Oh, it was abominable of you!"
"Aren't you just a little glad that I annoyed you so?" he demanded. "If I hadn't, perhaps you mightn't have flown off in such a hurry to the providentially-full Harbor View House. And then you'd not have come to Silver Shoal, nor known Garth, nor anything."
"Fancy never knowing him!" Joan reflected. "Yes, perhaps it was providential."
"And I've quite forgotten to give him his present!" Sinclair exclaimed suddenly. "What an uncle!"
They returned to the living-room, and Sinclair brought a big flat package from beside the door.
