“My kindness had nothing to do with it. I was willing to see you because of your name. It is a very familiar name to me—Dalbrook, the name of the man who bought the house in which she was born. Poor soul, how she must have hated him, in her desolate after years. How she must have hated the race that ousted her from the home she loved.” “You are talking of Evelyn Strangway?” “Yes, she was my first pupil, and I was very fond of her—all the fonder of her, perhaps, because she was wayward and difficult to manage: and because I was much too young and inexperienced to exercise any authority over her.” “It is of her I want to talk to you, if you will allow me.” “Certainly. I like talking of those old days when I was a girl. I don’t suppose I was particularly happy at Cheriton Chase; but I was young, and we most of us hug the delusion that we were happy in our youth. Poor Evelyn—so often in disgrace—so often unhappy, from the very dawn of girlhood! What reason can _you_ have for being curious about her?” “I have a very strong reason, though I cannot explain it yet awhile. I have set myself to discover the history of that banished race.” “After the angel with the flaming sword stood at the gate—that is to say, after Mr. Dalbrook bought the property. By-the-by, what are you to Lord Cheriton? His son perhaps?” “No, I am only a distant cousin.” “Is it on his account you are making these inquiries?” “He is not even aware that I am making them.” “Indeed; and pray how did you find me out? My tea-parties are not recorded in the Society papers; I have never figured among ‘Celebrities at Home.’” “I took some pains to find you,” said Theodore, and then he told her of his visits to the agencies, and his journey to the Vicarage in Lakeland. “You have taken infinite trouble, and for a small result. I can give you very little information about Evelyn Strangway—afterwards Mrs. Darcy.” “Did you lose sight of her after you left Cheriton?”