her people out,
two or three times, sight-seeing, since they came--Westminster Abbey, the
National Gallery, and so forth. She is very keen about everything, and
the Worralls--her uncle and aunt--stick to her pretty closely.'

'Where does she come from?'

'Well, her father was the Scotch overseer of a sugar plantation not far
from Kingston, and he married an Italian, one of your fair Venetian
type--a strange race-combination; I suppose it's the secret of the
brilliancy and out-of-the-wayness of the girl's beauty. Her mother died
when she was small, and the child grew up alone. Her father, however,
seems to have been a good sort of man, and to have looked after her.
Presently she drew the attention of an uncle, a shopkeeper in Kingston,
and a shrewd, hard, money-making fellow, who saw there was something to
be made out of her. She had already shown a turn for reciting, and had
performed at various places--in the schoolroom belonging to the estate,
and so on. The father didn't encourage her fancy for it, naturally, being
Scotch and Presbyterian. However, he died of fever, and then the child at
sixteen fell into her uncle's charge. He seems to have seen at once
exactly what line to take. To put it cynically, I imagine he argued
something like this: "Beauty extraordinary--character everything that
could be desired--talent not much. So that the things to stake on are the
beauty and the character, and let the talent take care of itself."
Anyhow, he got her on to the Kingston theatre--a poor little place
enough--and he and the aunt, that sour-looking creature you saw with her,
looked after her like dragons. Naturally, she was soon the talk of
Kingston: what with her looks and her grace and the difficulty of coming
near her, the whole European society, the garrison, Government House, and
all, were at her feet. Then the uncle played his cards for a European
engagement. You remember that Governor Rutherford they had a little time
ago? the writer of that little set of drawing-room plays--_Nineteenth
Century Interludes_, I think he called them? It was his last year, and he
started for home while Isabel Bretherton was acting at Kingston. He came
home full of her, and, knowing all the theatrical people here, he was
able to place her at once. Robinson decided to speculate in her,
telegraphed out for her, and here she is, uncle, aunt, and invalid sister
into the bargain.'

'Oh, she has a sister?'

'Yes; a little, white, crippled th