y near meeting before," I remarked, by way of
opening the conversation.

My companion turned her eyes full upon me with an air of inquiry. She
evidently did not recall my face, if she had ever seen me.

"Really--I cannot remember," she observed, in a low and musical voice.
"When?"

"In the first place, you came down from Berlin by the express ten days
ago. I was going the other way, and our carriages stopped opposite
each other. I saw you at the window."

"Yes--we came that way, but I do not remember--" She hesitated.

"Secondly," I continued, "I was sitting alone in my garden last
summer--near the end of July--do you remember? You must have wandered
in there through the park; you came up to the house and looked at me--"

"Was that you?" she asked, in evident surprise. Then she broke into a
laugh. "I told everybody I had seen a ghost; there had never been any
Cairngorms in the place since the memory of man. We left the next day,
and never heard that you had come there; indeed, I did not know the
castle belonged to you."

"Where were you staying?" I asked

"Where? Why, with my aunt, where I always stay. She is your neighbor,
since it _is_ you."

"I--beg your pardon--but then--is your aunt Lady Bluebell? I did not
quite catch--"

"Don't be afraid. She is amazingly deaf. Yes. She is the relict of
my beloved uncle, the sixteenth or seventeenth Baron Bluebell--I forget
exactly how many of them there have been. And I--do you know who I
am?" She laughed, well knowing that I did not.

"No," I answered frankly. "I have not the least idea. I asked to be
introduced because I recognized you. Perhaps--perhaps you are a Miss
Bluebell?"

"Considering that you are a neighbor, I will tell you who I am," she
answered. "No; I am of the tribe of Bluebells, but my name is Lammas,
and I have been given to understand that I was christened Margaret.
Being a floral family, they call me Daisy. A dreadful American man
once told me that my aunt was a Bluebell and that I was a
Harebell--with two l's and an e--because my hair is so thick. I warn
you, so that you may avoid making such a bad pun."

"Do I look like a man who makes puns?" I asked, being very conscious of
my melancholy face and sad looks.

Miss Lammas eyed me critically.

"No; you have a mournful temperament. I think I can trust you," she
answered. "Do you think you could communicate to my aunt the fact that
you are a Cairngorm and a neighbor?