accept it.

"Ye don't happen to be Miss Peggy McGuire, do ye?" asked the stranger
curiously.

"No," replied the girl. "My name is Beth Cameron."

"Beth----?"

"Cameron," she finished firmly.

"Oh----"

The stranger seemed to be examining her with a glowing interest, but his
look was clouded.

Beth had decided that until Peter came explaining she had no further
possible interest either in him or his affairs, but in spite of this she
found her lips suddenly asking,

"Are you a friend of Mr. Nichols's?"

The man in the portico grinned somberly.

"Yes. I guess I am--an old friend--before he came to America."

"Oh!" said Beth quietly. "You've known him a long time then?"

"Ye might say so. We were buddies together."

"Then you knew him in--in London?"

The man grinned. "Can't say I did. Not in London. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, I just wanted to know."

The gaze of the stranger upon her was disquieting. His eyes seemed to be
smoldering like embers just ready to blaze. She knew that she ought to
be returning and yet she didn't want to go leaving her object
unaccomplished, the dignity of her plan having already been greatly
disturbed. And so she hesitated, curiosity at war with discretion.

"Would you mind telling me your name?" she asked timidly.

The man shrugged a shoulder and glanced away from her. "I reckon my name
wouldn't mean much to you."

"Oh--I'm sorry. Perhaps I shouldn't have asked?"

The stranger put his hands into his coat pockets and stared down at Beth
with a strange intrusive kind of smile.

"You and Pete seem kind of thick, don't ye?" he muttered.

"Pete!"

"Pete Nichols. That's his name, ain't it? Kind of thick, I'd say. I
can't blame him though----"

"You're mistaken," said Beth with dignity, "there's nothin' between
Peter Nichols and me." And turning heel, Beth took a step away.

"There! Put my foot in it, didn't I? I'm sorry. Don't go yet. I want to
ask ye something."

Beth paused and found that the stranger had come out from the portico
and still stood beside her. And as her look inquired fearlessly,

"It's about your name, Miss," he muttered, and then with an effort spoke
the word savagely, as though it had been wrenched from him by an effort
of will, "Cameron----? Your name's Cameron?"

"Yes," said Beth, in some inquietude.

"Common name in some parts--Cameron--not so common in others--not in
Jersey anyway----"

"I didn't know----"

"Is yer father livin'?" he snap