"Are you indeed?" and the old lady waved a little hand in courteous deprecation of all unnecessary explanation--a hand which Innocent noticed had a delicate lace mitten on it and one or two sparkling rings. "Well, let us sit down together and talk it over. I have two spare rooms--a bedroom and a sitting-room--they are small but very comfortable, and for these I have been told I should ask three guineas a week, including board. I feel it a little difficult"--and the old lady heaved a sigh--"I have never done this kind of thing before--I don't know what my poor father, Major Leigh, would have said--he was a very proud man--very proud--!" While she thus talked, Innocent had been making a rapid calculation in her own mind. Three guineas a week! It was more than she had meant to pay, but she was instinctively wise enough to realise the advantage of safety and shelter in this charming little home of one who was evidently a lady, gentle, kindly, and well-mannered. She had plenty of money to go on with--and in the future she hoped to make more. So she spoke out bravely. "I will pay the three guineas a week gladly," she said. "May I see the rooms?" The old lady meanwhile had been studying her with great intentness, and now asked abruptly-- "Are you an English girl?" Innocent flushed a sudden rosy red. "Yes. I was brought up in the country, but all my people are dead now. I have no friends, but I have a little money left to me--and for the rest--I must earn my own living." "Well, my dear, that won't hurt you!" and an encouraging smile brightened Miss Leigh's pleasantly wrinkled face. "You shall see the rooms. But you have not told me your name yet." Again Innocent blushed. "My name is Armitage," she said, in a low, hesitating tone--"Ena Armitage." "Armitage!"--Miss Leigh repeated the name with a kind of wondering accent--"Armitage? Are you any relative of the painter, Pierce Armitage?" The girl's heart beat quickly--for a moment the little drawing-room seemed to whirl round her--then she collected her forces with a strong effort and answered--"No!" The old lady's wistful blue eyes, dimmed with age, yet retaining a beautiful tenderness of expression, rested upon her anxiously. "You are quite sure?" Repressing the feeling that prompted her to cry out--"He was my father!" she replied-- "I am quite sure!" Lavinia Leigh raised her little mittened hand and pointed to the portrait standing on the harpsichord: "That was Pierce Armitage!" she said. "He was a dear friend of mine"--her voice trembled a little--"and I should have been glad if you had been in any way connected with him." As she spoke Innocent turned and looked steadily at the portrait, and it seemed to her excited fancy that its eyes gave her glance for glance. She could hardly breathe--the threatening tears half choked her. What strange fate was it, she thought, that had led her to a house where she looked upon her own father's likeness for the first time!