As always, when much moved, she was very white, and to-night her great eyes were soft and dog-like in their devotion. "By the way," said Mr. Wycherly, "I haven’t forgotten your inquiry about the poem that you cannot remember, and I have marked in a volume of Wordsworth a number of verses dealing with mountains. Perhaps you would like to look through it at your leisure." "Thank you, sir," Jane-Anne whispered. "I know nothing," Mr. Wycherly continued, "more annoying than a half-remembered quotation. I sincerely hope that you will soon find it." For a moment there was silence, then: "Sir," Jane-Anne said earnestly, "are you very lonely now the young gentlemen have gone back to school?" "I do miss them greatly of course." "Do you remember, sir, when you came to see me, when I was in bed the first day I was here, you said when they went back that the sun set for you——" "Did I?" said Mr. Wycherly, rather surprised at himself. "You really did, sir, and I wondered whether—though the sun has set—whether you’d let me try—to be a little tiny star—just so you wouldn’t feel quite so lonely." Mr. Wycherly’s hand still tingled with the touch of those soft unaccustomed girlish lips, nevertheless he held it out to her, saying, "That will be very kind of you." Jane-Anne placed her own within it and she did not attempt to kiss Mr. Wycherly’s hand again, but she looked at him as though she would read his very soul and asked: "Sir, have you ever heard anything about a place called Greece?" Mr. Wycherly laughed. "For a considerable portion of my life," he replied, "I have heard about little else." "Will you tell me things sometimes, sir? Will you?" "I shall be most happy," said Mr. Wycherly. "You certainly ought to know as much as possible about your father’s country—and there is so much to know." "I have another name," she said suddenly and with apparent irrelevance. "Shall I tell it you? Very few people know." "Do you mean Stavrides?" Mr. Wycherly asked. "No, sir, not that; I have another Christian name. Allegra; don’t you think it’s very pretty?" "Very," said Mr. Wycherly; "it is a beautiful name, but it isn’t Greek." "I’m called after somebody’s daughter that died. I don’t know who she was; mother knew. My daddie liked the name. I daresay I shall find out some day all about her." "I daresay you will," said Mr. Wycherly, and looked hard at Jane-Anne. "Which would you like to call me?" she asked. "I shall call you Jane-Anne, not Allegra," Mr. Wycherly said decidedly. "It’s a pretty name," she said wistfully. "It has rather sad associations for me," he added. The clock upon the mantelpiece struck nine. Jane-Anne rose. "I must go, sir, now; good night, and thank you." "Good night, my child. Get strong and rest you merry. And here is the Wordsworth; tell me when you find your poem."