She continued her way, stopping at the house of this or that friend, but all were bound for the birthday party, and after two or three attempts she gave it up. Rather than put any more of the good-hearted girls to the pain of refusing, she would stay alone. More than one had offered to give up the dance, and this she could not allow another to propose. After all, it would not be bad, though Mammy should drop to sleep early, for there would be the cheerful fire and another bit of paper to cover with the lines which had been haunting her all day. She turned toward home again, with thoughtful tread, traversing the long street between rows of flaming maples or golden gum trees, whose offerings of scarlet and yellow fluttered to her feet at every step. There was the first hint of winter in the air, but the grass was green in the gardens and in the still unfrosted vines birds chattered and scolded, disputing right of way. At the corner she met Mr. Jeffreys, who joined her. "Bound for a walk?" he asked. "May I go with you?" As a girl will, who does not despise the society of a companionable man, she tacitly accepted his escort, and they went on down the street toward the river, where the red and yellow of trees appeared to have drifted to the sky, to be reflected in the waters below. "Miss Talbot," said the young man, when they had wandered to where houses were few and scattered, "I have a confession to make." Linda looked at him in surprise. He was rather a reticent person, though courteous and not altogether diffident. "To me?" she exclaimed. "To you first, because--well, I will tell you that I, too, can claim kinship with the Talbot family. My great-grandfather and yours were brothers. Did you ever hear of Lovina Talbot?" "Why, yes. Let me see; what have I heard? It will come back to me after a while. That branch of the Talbots left here years ago." "Yes, just after the War of 1812. My great-grandfather, Cyrus, went to Western Pennsylvania. His only daughter, Lovina, was my grandmother. She married against his wishes, and then he married a second time--a Scotch-Irish girl of his neighborhood--and the families seem to have known little of one another after that. My father, Charles Jeffreys, was Lovina's son. He settled in Hartford, Connecticut. And now you have my pedigree." "Why, then we are really blood relations. No wonder you were interested in the old Talbot place. Why--" she paused, hesitated, flushed up--"then it must be some of the Talbot property you are looking up." "That is it; but I don't exactly know which it is, and without proof I can make no claim, as I have often said."