At last Oliver came up to her, saying, 'Here, ma'am, Mr. Henderson claims an early acquaintance with you.' 'Mr. Henderson!' and she eagerly started up, but looked baffled. 'Little George Henderson,' said the grey-headed gentleman--for once a real gentleman--'I assure you I have not forgotten the happy days I have spent here.' 'Little George!' as she took him by both hands--'who would have thought it! You were little George with the apple cheeks. And are no more of you here?' He shook his head sadly. 'They would have been even more glad than I am to welcome you home; they were older, and knew you better.' 'Ah! I must learn to ask no questions. And yet, that dear sister Fanny of yours--' 'Gone many years since, ma'am. She died in India. I hope my daughter Fanny may put you a little mind of her.' 'Is she not here?' 'Why, no. I wished to bring her, but she is but fifteen, and mamma will not trust her out without herself. We are quiet people, and the world is growing too gay for us.' 'Clara and I must come to find you out. Can you believe this tall creature is poor dear Henry's daughter?' as Clara hastened to greet her father's playfellow, with an alacrity which piqued Lady Britton into a supercilious aside to Lord Fitzjocelyn that the Hendersons were in poor circumstances, and no one visited them. 'And is no one here whom I know? Not one of the old set, George?' asked the old lady, mournfully. 'I fear there is hardly any one,' said Mr. Henderson. 'All seem even to me new people. Stay, do you recollect old Mrs. Golding?'