"I might never have known of your existence if it had not been for your sister." My sister was standing at my side, you must remember.

I don't suppose that I started, but I made my aunt no answer.
"Indeed," she went on, "I should never have known that you had a sister.
Your father was so _very_ peculiar.

From the day he married, my husband never heard a word from him." "They were so very different," I said, listlessly.
"Ah, yes," she answered, "brothers so often are." She sighed, apropos of nothing.

She continued to utter disjointed sentences from which I gathered a skeleton history of my _soi distant_ sister's introduction of herself and of her pretensions.

She had, it seemed, casually introduced herself at some garden-party or function of the sort, had represented herself as a sister of my own to whom a maternal uncle had left a fabulous fortune.