lips. Each feature in turn was scrutinised as if he were
searching for something familiar which had so far escaped notice.
Apparently it was not discovered, for the expression of amazement
deepened upon his face, and he asked sharply--

"What did you say? _What_ did you call me? I don't understand what you
can mean!"

Mollie sat down on the bench, and smiled brightly into his face.

"Uncle Bernard! You are Uncle Bernard Farrell! I knew you the moment
you said that you were going to Number 7, and asked if I knew the
Connors. Of course I know them, because I am--" She hesitated, and Mr
Farrell finished the sentence for her.

"You are one of Mr Connor's daughters. The eldest, I presume. I have
not the pleasure of knowing your name."

"No-o! I am not Trix. She is a child, only fifteen. I was nineteen on
my last birthday. I am,"--for once in her life Mollie had the grace to
blush, and looked a trifle discomposed--"I'm Mollie Farrell."

The glance which the old man cast upon her was the reverse of
flattering.

"You are Mollie Farrell, are you?" he repeated coldly. "Evidently
modesty is not one of your failings, young lady. It might have been
wiser if you had allowed me to discover your attractions for myself. Do
you consider it quite honest--we will not discuss the question of good
taste--to play a double part, and criticise your relations to any
stranger whom you may meet in your walks?"

"You asked me; you began it! I should not have mentioned them if you
had not asked that question. Then I recognised you, and thought it
would be fun. You were not a stranger, you see; you were Uncle
Bernard."

"That may be my name, but as I have never seen you before, I can hardly
rank as a friend. May I ask how you came to recognise me at all?"

"Oh yes! We have your portraits at home, and mother often talks of you,
and the happy times she had when she used to visit you with father when
they were engaged. When we were children it was a favourite game for
one of us to be Uncle Bernard, and the other guests staying at the
Court, and we used to go through all the adventures which father had as
a boy,--fall into the mill-stream and be rescued by the dog, and be
chased by the bull in the long meadow, and ride on the top of the
waggons at the harvest home. We know all about the house, and the
tapestry in the hall, and the funny wooden pictures of the Dutch
ancestors, and the long gallery where you used to dance