It was very gratifying to Wilton to observe the effect produced by Ella on the sedate Mr. Kenrick, who was an old-young man. Her unconsciousness of self gave her a high-bred composure; her perfect freedom from provincialism--the result of having acquired English almost as a foreign tongue--an air of refinement, and her natural, simple readiness to listen, only caring to speak when she really had something to say, gave a charm to her conversation which greatly impressed the cool, hard-headed man of business. However blind love may be, no man, unless below the average of intelligence, is so hoodwinked as not to see when other men think he has a good excuse for his imprudence or not. The gentlemen did not sit long after Ella had left them, and, on joining her, Mr. Kenrick observed, "I have brought the picture, Colonel Wilton, as it is your pleasure to be so called." And he handed a small parcel to Wilton, who, opening it, said, "Look at this, Ella." She was cutting the leaves of a book which Wilton had bought that morning, and, looking up quickly exclaimed, "Ah! how good of you! you have found my picture for me. Where did you find it?" "Your picture! what do you mean?" he asked. "The picture of my mother, which was lost." "You are under some mistake. I do not think you ever saw this before." "I have seen it all my life; it is my mother's picture." "Your mother's!" exclaimed Wilton and the lawyer together; "impossible." "Yet it is so. If you raise the frame here, at the side, you can take it out of the case, and you will find her name at the back--Elizabeth Louisa Adelaide di Monteiro--mine is formed from her initials of her Christian name." The lawyer and Wilton eagerly obeyed, and found the inscription as she had described. "This is very extraordinary!" exclaimed Wilton. "It appears, then," said Mr. Kenrick, "that, by a rare accident, you have married your own cousin, and Lord St. George's heiress. The title and estates are united." "How? What does he mean?" asked Ella. "Tell me, Ella, was Monteiro your father's name?" "Yes, one of them. His mother was a wealthy Spanish lady, his father an Englishman. He was partly brought up in Spain, by his mother's people, in her name; he was early an orphan, and, I imagine, very extravagant. Afterward, when immersed in politics, he found it more useful to use his father's name of Rivers. He was peculiarly averse to mention my mother. I never knew her family name. Her picture was always a sacred thing. My father, who might have been a great artist, painted it himself. Now, tell me, what do your questions mean?"