"Yes--No!" said Sylvia absently, for she was thinking less of what she was saying than of certain phrases which her companion had just uttered. "We used to say at home." Who was this, then, who had known Pixie O'Shaughnessy in bygone days--could it by any chance be the dreaded rival towards whom she was prepared to cherish so ardent a dislike? She stared at the honest, kindly face, and felt that it would be difficult to harbour a prejudice against its owner, even if--if-- "Are you Miss Burrell?" she asked, and Mollie smiled assent. "I am that, and you are Sylvia Trevor. I've heard about you from--" "Bridgie--yes! We have been great friends all winter." "Not Bridgie--no! We had so much to discuss about the old place and its people, that I'm afraid we have never mentioned your name. It was not Bridgie." "Oh!" said Sylvia, and stared across the room. It might, of course, have been Esmeralda herself who had enlightened Miss Burrell's ignorance, but there was a mysterious something in the girl's manner which gave a different impression. She was too proud to ask questions, and Miss Burrell volunteered no information, but smiled to herself as at an interesting reminiscence. It seemed as though what she had heard had been of a distinctly pleasant character! Sylvia returned home feeling mysteriously happy and elated, and the sight of a letter addressed to herself in her father's handwriting put the finishing touch on her satisfaction. She took it upstairs to her own room, and sat herself down on the one comfortable chair which she possessed, to read its contents with undisturbed enjoyment. She was in no hurry to break the seal, however, for it was so pleasant just to hold the letter in her hand, and lean back comfortably against the cushions, and dream. The dreams, it is true, were mostly concerned with the events of the afternoon, and Mollie Burrell's intent and kindly scrutiny; but it was like the old times when she had thought her own thoughts with her hand clasped in that of the dear old dad, and the touch of the sheet on which his fingers had rested brought back the old feeling of strength and security. She had told him much about her new friends, and he seemed always to wish to hear more, asking carefully veiled questions, the meaning of which were perfectly understood by his shrewd little daughter. Dad was anxious about this friendship with a family which included a handsome grown-up son among its members; a trifle afraid lest she should be spirited away to another home before he had enjoyed his own innings.