He smiled, with a very attractive, ingenuous smile. “Because you have the face of a friend.” “Have I that? There’s many, many, then, that would have been the better for knowing it that have never found it out. And you are a friend to Mrs. Bristow on the other side?” “A friend to her?--no, I am more like her son, yet not her son, for my own mother is living--at least, I believe so. I am her servant, and a little her ward, and--devoted to her,” he added, with a bright flush of animation and sincerity. Miss Bethune took no notice of these last words. “Your mother is living, you believe? and don’t you know her, then? And why should you be ward or son to this other woman, and your mother alive?” “Pardon me,” said the young man, “that is my story, and it is not worth a thought. The question is about Mrs. Bristow and the Mannerings. She is anxious about them, and she is very broken in health. And I think there is some family trouble there too, so that she can’t come in a natural straightforward way and make herself known to them. These family quarrels are dreadful things.” “Dreadful things,” Miss Bethune said. “They are bad enough for those with whom they originate; but for those who come after, worse still. To be deprived of a natural friend all your life because of some row that took place before you were born!” “You are a Daniel come to judgment,” said Miss Bethune, pale to her very lips. “I hope,” he said kindly, “I am not saying anything I ought not to say? I hope you are not ill?” “Go on,” she said, waving her hand. “About this Mrs. Bristow, that is what we were talking of. The Mannerings could not be more in need of a friend than they are now. He has been very ill. I hear it is very doubtful if he’ll ever be himself again, or able to go back to his occupation. And she is very young, nearly grown up, but still a child. If there was a friend, a relation, to stand up for them, now would be the very time.” “Thank you,” he said. “I have been very fortunate in finding you, but I don’t think Mrs. Bristow can take any open step. My idea is that she must be a sister of Mrs. Mannering, and thus involved in the dissension, whatever it was.” “It was more than a dissension, so far as I have heard,” Miss Bethune said. “That is what makes it so hard. What she wishes is to see Dora.” “Dora?” “Indeed, I mean no disrespect. I have never known her by any other name. I have helped to pack boxes for her, and choose playthings.” Miss Bethune uttered a sudden exclamation. “Then it was from Mrs. Bristow the boxes came?” “Have I let out something that was a secret? I am not very good at secrets,” he said with a laugh. “She might be an aunt as you say:--an aunt would be a good thing for her, poor child:--or she might be---- But is it Dora only she wants to see?” “Dora only; and only Dora if it is certain that she would entertain no prejudices against a relation of her mother.” “How could there be prejudices of such a kind?”