By an emphatic whisper Miss Grace Winthrop succeeded in impressing
upon her aunt the necessity--at no matter what sacrifice of the
social conventions--of being the last to go. In the matter of keeping
Livingstone, she experienced no difficulty at all. And when the
unnecessary eight had departed, she presented to her aunt and uncle her
deliverer, and--in a delightfully hesitating way--told to Mr. and Mrs.
Smith the story of her deliverance.
It was when this matter had been explained that Livingstone, who felt
that his position now was absolutely secure, brought up the delicate
question of his own identity.
"You can understand, I am sure, Mrs. Smith," he said, "how very grateful
I am to you for this evening; but, indeed, I don't think that I am the
person you meant to ask. And it has occurred to me, from something that
you said about my having been in Europe for a good while, that Mr. Smith
might have meant his invitation for Van Rensselaer Livingstone. He's my
cousin, you know; and he has spent the last ten years in Europe, and
is there yet, I fancy. But I am Van Ruyter Livingstone, and if I can
be said to have a home anywhere--except the old home in New York, of
course--it is on my sheep range in New Mexico.
"But you won't be cruel enough, Mrs. Smith, after letting me into
Paradise--even if I did get in by mistake--to turn me out again; will
you?"
And Mrs. Rittenhouse Smith, who was a clever woman, as well as a
remarkably clear-sighted one, replied that even if she wanted to turn
Mr. Van Ruyter Livingstone out of Paradise she believed that it was now
too late.