"It may be so--if a time comes when she is in sore need of help, and
when she has no friend to look to but me."

"Did you ever see the apparition of your little Mary?"

"Never!"

"But you used once to see her--as Dame Dermody predicted--in dreams?"

"Yes--when I was a lad."

"And, in the after-time, it was not Mary, but Mrs. Van Brandt who came
to you in dreams--who appeared to you in the spirit, when she was far
away from you in the body? Poor old Dame Dermody. She little thought,
in her life-time, that her prediction would be fullfilled by the wrong
woman!"

To that result her inquiries had inscrutably conducted her! If she had
only pressed them a little further--if she had not unconsciously led
me astray again by the very next question that fell from her lips--she
_must_ have communicated to _my_ mind the idea obscurely germinating in
hers--the idea of a possible identity between the Mary of my first love
and Mrs. Van Brandt!

"Tell me," she went on. "If you met with your little Mary now, what
would she be like? What sort of woman would you expect to see?"

I could hardly help laughing. "How can I tell," I rejoined, "at this
distance of time?"

"Try!" she said.

Reasoning my way from the known personality to the unknown, I
searched my memory for the image of the frail and delicate child of my
remembrance: and I drew the picture of a frail and delicate woman--the
most absolute contrast imaginable to Mrs. Van Brandt!

The half-realized idea of identity in the mind of Miss Dunross dropped
out of it instantly, expelled by the substantial conclusion which the
contrast implied. Alike ignorant of the aftergrowth of health, strength,
and beauty which time and circumstances had developed in the Mary of
my youthful days, we had alike completely and unconsciously misled one
another. Once more, I had missed the discovery of the truth, and missed
it by a hair-breadth!

"I infinitely prefer your portrait of Mary," said Miss Dunross, "to
your portrait of Mrs. Van Brandt. Mary realizes my idea of what a really
attractive woman ought to be. How you can have felt any sorrow for
the loss of that other person (I detest buxom women!) passes my
understanding. I can't tell you how interested I am in Mary! I want to
know more about her. Where is that pretty present of needle-work which
the poor little thing embroidered for you so industriously? Do let me
see the green flag!"

She evidently supposed that I carried the gre