“_Now_,” said Barton’s companion eagerly, when Margaret and Janey, about three yards in advance, might be conventionally regarded as beyond earshot--“_Now_, Mr. Barton, am I to congratulate you?” Barton gave a little shamefaced laugh, uneasily. “I don’t know--I hope so--I’m not sure.” “Oh, you’re not satisfactory--not at all satisfactory. Are you _still_ shilly-shallying? What is the matter with young people?” cried the veteran of twenty-nine. “Or was it that wretched Janey, rushing in, like a cow in a conservatory? She’s a regular school-girl!” “It isn’t that exactly, or at least that’s not all. I hope--I think she does care for me, or will care for me, a little.” “Oh, bother!” said Mrs. St John Deloraine. She would not, for all the world, reveal the secrets of the confessional, and tell Barton what she knew of the state of Margaret’s heart But she was highly provoked, and showed it in her manners, at no time applauded for their repose. “The fact is,” Barton admitted, “that I’m so taken by surprise I hardly know where I am! I do think, if I may say so without seeming conceited, that I have every reason to be happy. But, just as she was beginning to tell me about herself, that young lady, who seems to have known her at school, rushed in and explained the whole mystery.” “Well,” said Mrs. Si John Deloraine, turning a little pale and looking anxiously at Barton, “was it anything so very dreadful?” “She called her Daisy Shields,” said Barton. “Well, I suppose she did! I always fancied, after what happened at _The Bunhouse_, that that dreadful Mr. Cranley sent her to me under a false name. It was not _her_ fault. The question is, What was her reason for keeping her real name concealed?” “That’s what I’m coming to,” said Barton. “I have a friend, a Mr. Maitland.” “Mr. Maitland of St. Gatien’s?” asked the widow. “Yes.” “I know him.” “Yes, I have often heard him speak of you,” said Barton. “Well, he had a _protégée_--a kind of ward, to tell a long story in few words--a girl whom he had educated, and whom he was under some kind of promise to her father to marry. The father died suddenly; the girl disappeared mysteriously from school at the same moment; and Maitland, after many efforts, has never been able to find out anything about her. Now, this girl’s name, this girl in whom my friend was interested, was Margaret Shields. That is the very name by which your friend, Miss Harman, called Margaret. So, you see, even if I am right, and if she _does_ care for me, what a dreadful position I am in! I want to marry the girl to whom my friend is, more or less, engaged! My friend, after doing his best to find his ward, and after really suffering a great deal of anxiety and annoyance, is living abroad. What am I to say to him?”