"I think I am bewildered," Margaret answered. "Everything is so strange." "Of course it is," Tom Carringford said, "and we stare at her as if she were a curiosity. What brutes we are! Never mind, Miss Vincent," he laughed, "we mean well, so you might tell us your adventures before Mrs. Lakeman returns." He gave her courage again, and a sense of safety. She laughed back a little as she answered. "Adventures--do people have adventures in London? It sounds like Dick Whittington." "Just like Dick Whittington," Lena answered. "You ought to carry a cat under your arm and marry a fairy prince. Isn't she beautiful?" she whispered to Dawson Farley. The color rushed to Margaret's face. "Oh, please don't," she said. "I'm not a bit beautiful." "Where have you come from, Miss Vincent?" the actor asked, as if he had not heard. "From Woodside Farm at Chidhurst." "I can tell you all about her," Lena said. "My mother was once engaged to her father, Gerald Vincent--" Margaret turned quickly as if to stop her. But she took no notice and went on. "He was a clergyman then, but he changed his opinions, left the Church, and wrote some articles that made a sensation. All his relations were furious, and mother couldn't marry him. A little cry came from Margaret. "Oh! How could she tell you?" she exclaimed. "You oughtn't to have told us, anyhow," Tom Carringford said, turning upon Lena: he was almost distressed. "It's an awful shame!" "Miss Lakeman didn't mean any harm--she's not like any one else," Miss Hunstan said to Margaret, with a look in her eyes that counted for more than her words. "It's history, dear--everybody knows it," Lena cooed, soothingly. "Besides, I always tell everything I know, about myself and every one else. It's much the best way; then one doesn't get any shocks in life, and isn't told any secrets." "There's something in that," Mr. Farley agreed, and then he turned to Margaret; "I've read some of Mr. Vincent's articles. They are beyond my depth, but I recognized their brilliance." "You see?" Lena said, with a shrug that implied it was impossible to cover up the history of a famous person. Mr. Farley looked at her impatiently and then at the stranger-girl: it was odd how different from themselves they all felt her to be. "Are you going to any theatres?" he asked, trying to change the conversation. "There are all sorts of things to see in London." "We are going to 'King John' to-night." "Mr. Shakespeare and rather slow," Tom Carringford put in, gayly. "Ah, that's what you young men think," Mr. Farley said--he himself was under forty. "Tell me what you do in the country, little Margaret?" Lena asked, with the air of a culprit who loved her, and ignoring the fact that Margaret was a good five foot seven. "Do you bask in the sun all the summer, and hide beneath the snow all the winter, or do you behave like ordinary mortals?" "We behave like ordinary mortals. Father and I read a great many books--" she began.