'What you are?' she interposed. 'You may trust me.'

We turned at the corner, and came once more to the west side and the
little arbour. As we rounded the corner my companion suddenly slipped
her little hand beneath my elbow, giving it at the same time a
significant little pressure. The brunette, having doubtless watched
our progress through the window, was coming down the steps and
straight toward us.

For just a passing moment I knew how Miss Jenrys looked to the friends
who knew her, and whom she knew best. She was smiling and preoccupied
as we stepped within the inclosure.

'See,' she said, hastening her own steps and mine, with a bright look
toward the benches, 'there is auntie.'

The little brunette was almost abreast of us, and my companion's
smiling gaze was still fixed upon the figure under the vines; then she
turned her head, and, just at the place where we could turn from the
walk, let her eyes turn toward the figure just opposite us.

It was charmingly done. Just as she made a step in the direction of
the arbour her eyes fell quite naturally upon the face of the
brunette. 'Good-morning,' she said smilingly, and with a little nod of
her head. But there was no slackening of her steps; with the words on
her lips we were off the walk, and crossing the grass to the place,
not ten paces away, where the sweet-faced Quakeress sat, knitting and
looking her surprise.

'Auntie, I have brought you a new acquaintance,' Miss Jenrys said, in
a voice slightly raised; and then, looking after the retreating figure
of the brunette and seeing that she was quite out of hearing, she
added, 'and I have found my bag.'

I took the bag from my pocket, where it had grown to seem a quite
familiar bulk, and laid it in her lap, and she began at once to
narrate to the wondering Quakeress the adventures of the little bag.
She heard it through, with here and there a soft little exclamation of
wonder, and I saw that she was slightly deaf, and quite given to
misunderstanding and miscalling words and phrases.

'Thee has been very lucky, my dear,' the good soul said when Miss
Jenrys had done, 'and the young man has been at great pains to restore
thy reticule. It was hardly worth so much trouble, do you think?'

'Not in actual value perhaps, auntie, but it contained one or two
little keepsakes that I valued'--she breathed a little fluttering
sigh--'for the sake of the giver.'

'Is that why thee has mourned the loss of the little ba