an to be rude,
but are not your people just a little bit old-fashioned and behind the
times? I don't want to shock you; I am far too grateful for your
company. Mamma and I thoroughly understand each other. I am very fond of
her, and I am as sorry as possible to vex her by getting into this
mess;" and here the girl heaved a very genuine sigh.

"And you live in London?" Bessie was politely changing the subject.

"Oh, no; but we have some friends there, and I was going to break my
journey and do a little shopping. Our home is in Kent; we live at
Oatlands--such a lovely, quiet little place--far too quiet for me; but
since I came out mamma always spends the season in town. The
Grange--that is our house--is really Richard's--my brother's, I mean."

"The Grange--Oatlands? I am sure I know that name," returned Bessie, in
a puzzled tone; "and yet where could I have heard it?" She thought a
moment, and then added quickly, "Your name cannot be Sefton?"

"To be sure it is," replied the other girl, opening her brown eyes
rather wildly; "Edna Sefton; but how could you have guessed it?"

"Then your mother's name is Eleanor?"

"I begin to think this is mysterious, and that you must be a witch, or
something uncanny. I know all mamma's friends, and I am positive not
one of them ever lived at Cliffe-on-Sea."

"And you are quite sure of that? Has your mother never mentioned the
name of a Dr. Lambert?"

"Dr. Lambert! No. Wait a moment, though. Mamma is very fond of talking
about old days, when she was a girl, don't you know, and there was a
young doctor, very poor, I remember, but his name was Herbert."

"My father's name is Herbert, and he was very poor once, when he was a
young man; he is not rich now. I think, many years ago, he and your
mother were friends. Let me tell you all I know about it. About a year
ago he asked me to post a letter for him. I remember reading aloud the
address in an absent sort of way: 'Mrs. Sefton, The Grange, Oatlands,
Kent;' and my father looked up from his writing, and said, 'That is only
a business letter, Bessie, but Mrs. Sefton and I are old correspondents.
When she was Eleanor Sartoris, and I was a young fellow as poor as a
church mouse, we were good friends; but she married, and then I married;
but that is a lifetime ago; she was a handsome girl, though.'"

"Mamma is handsome now. How interesting it all is! When I get home I
shall coax mamma to tell me all about it. You see, we are not stranger