a time had
she thought over the strange story Lavender had told her of the woman
who heard that her husband was dying in a hospital during the war, and
started off, herself and her daughter, to find him out; how there was
in the same hospital another dying man whom they had known some years
before, and who had gone away because the girl would not listen to
him; how this man, being very near to death, begged that the girl
would do him the last favor he would ask of her, of wearing his name
and inheriting his property; and how, some few hours after the strange
and sad ceremony had been performed, he breathed his last, happy in
holding her hand. The father died next day, and the two widows were
thrown upon the world, almost without friends, but not without means.
This man Lorraine had been possessed of considerable wealth, and the
girl who had suddenly become mistress of it found herself able to
employ all possible means in assuaging her mother's grief. They began
to travel. The two women went from capital to capital, until at
last they came to London; and here, having gathered around them
a considerable number of friends, they proposed to take up their
residence permanently. Lavender had often talked to Sheila about
Mrs. Lorraine--about her shrewdness, her sharp sayings, and the odd
contrast between this clever, keen, frank woman of the world and the
woman one would have expected to be the heroine of a pathetic tale.

But were there two Mrs. Lorraines? That had been Sheila's first
question to herself when, after having been introduced to one
lady under that name, she suddenly saw before her another, who was
introduced to her as Mrs. Kavanagh. The mother and daughter were
singularly alike. They had the same slight and graceful figure, which
made them appear taller than they really were, the same pale, fine
and rather handsome features, the same large, clear gray eyes, and
apparently the same abundant mass of soft fair hair, heavily plaited
in the latest fashion. They were both dressed entirely in black,
except that the daughter had a band of blue round her slender waist.
It was soon apparent, too, that the manner of the two women was
singularly different; Mrs. Kavanagh bearing herself with a certain
sad reserve that almost approached melancholy at times, while her
daughter, with more life and spirit in her face, passed rapidly
through all sorts of varying moods, until one could scarcely tell
whether the affectation lay in