id; and was silent a moment. At length, 'Does it
make--any great difference to you?' she asked naively.

Sir George looked at her as if he were studying her appearance. Then,
'Yes, child, it does,' he said.

She hesitated, but seemed to make up her mind. 'I have never asked you
where you live,' she said softly; 'have you no house in the country?'

He suppressed something between an oath and a groan. 'Yes,' he said, 'I
have a house.'

'What do you call it?'

'Estcombe Hall. It is in Wiltshire, not far from here.'

She looked at her fan, and idly flapped it open, and again closed it in
the air. 'Is it a fine place?' she said carelessly.

'I suppose so,' he answered, wincing.

'With trees, and gardens, and woods?'

'Yes.'

'And water?'

'Yes. There is a river.'

'You used to fish in it as a boy?'

'Yes.'

'Estcombe! it is a pretty name. And shall you lose it?'

But that was too much for Soane's equanimity. 'Oh, d--n the girl!' he
cried, rising abruptly, but sitting down again. Then, as she recoiled,
in anger real or affected, 'I beg your pardon,' he said formally.
'But--it is not the custom to ask so many questions upon
private matters.'

'Really, Sir George?' she said, receiving the information gravely, and
raising her eyebrows. 'Then Estcombe is your Mr. Dunborough, is it?'

'If you will,' he said, almost sullenly.

'But you love it,' she answered, studying her fan, 'and I do not
love--Mr. Dunborough!'

Marvelling at her coolness and the nimbleness of her wit, he turned so
that he looked her full in the face. 'Miss Masterson,' he said, 'you are
too clever for me. Will you tell me where you learned so much? 'Fore
Gad, you might have been at Mrs. Chapone's, the way you talk.'

'Mrs. Chapone's?' she said.

'A learned lady,' he explained.

'I was at a school,' she answered simply, 'until I was fifteen. A
godfather, whom I never knew, left money to my father to be spent on my
schooling.'

'Lord!' he said. 'And where were you at school?'

'At Worcester.'

'And what have you done since?--if I may ask.'

'I have been at home. I should have taught children, or gone into
service as a waiting-woman; but my father would keep me with him. Now I
am glad of it, as this money has come to me.'

'Lord! it is a perfect romance!' he exclaimed. And on the instant he
fancied that he had the key to the mystery, and her beauty. She was
illegitimate--a rich man's child! 'Gad, Mr. Richardson should hear of
it