She looked up as she spoke. Some drops of rain were beginning to fall. Mr. Grubb put up his umbrella, and held it over her. To do this, he laid down a small hand-bag of Russian leather, on the silver clasp of which was engraved "C. Grubb." Miss Upton read the name, rose from her box, and looked him steadily in the face. "It is a good face and a handsome one," she thought to herself. "Sir, is your name Grubb?" she asked. "Yes, madam, it is." "I read it here," she explained, pointing to the old-fashioned article. "Ah, yes," he smiled. "It was my late father's bag, and that was his name." "Was he Christopher Grubb? "He was." She put her hand on his coat-sleeve, apparently for the purpose of steadying herself while regarding his face more attentively. "You have your mother's eyes," she said; "I should know them anywhere. Beautiful eyes they were. And so are yours." "And may I inquire who it is that is doing honour to my vanity in saying this?" he rejoined, in the winning voice and manner characteristic of him. "Ay, if you like. I dare say you have heard of me. I am Margery Upton." "Indeed I have; and I have wondered sometimes whether I should ever see you. Then--did you know my mother, Miss Upton?" "I did; in the old days when we were girls together. Has she never told you so?" "Not to my recollection." "I see. Resented our resentment, and dropped us out of her life as we dropped her," commented Miss Upton partly to herself, as she sat down again. "What a tinkering they keep up there! Is your mother living?" "Yes; but she is an invalid." "Is it you who are about to marry Lord Acorn's daughter?" continued Miss Upton. "Yes. I have just come from them." "I knew the name was Grubb, and that he was a City man and wealthy," she candidly continued; "and the thought occurred to me that it might possibly be the son of the Christopher Grubb I heard something of in early life. I did not put the question to the Acorns." "It is by them I have heard you spoken of," he remarked. "Also by my sister." "By your sister!" exclaimed Miss Upton, in surprise. "What sister? What does she know of me?" "She was staying some fourteen or fifteen months ago with the Dalrymples of Moat Grange--it was at the time of Mr. Dalrymple's sad death--and she made your acquaintance there. She is Mary Lynn, my half-sister. My father died when I was a little lad, and my mother made a second marriage." Miss Upton was silent, apparently revolving matters in her mind. "Did your sister know that I was her mother's early friend?" she asked. "Oh no; I think not. She only spoke of you as a stranger--or, rather, as a friend of the Dalrymples. I never heard my mother speak of you at all--I do not suppose Mary has." "That young girl had her mother's eyes," suddenly cried Miss Upton, "just as you have. They seemed familiar to me; I remember that; but I wanted the clue, which this name"--bending to look at the bag--"has supplied. C. Grubb--Christopher was your father's name."