"I understand. Mrs. Grantham, I ought not to keep anything from you. The reason why Mr. Dixon does not come to see me here, is that he and my brother are not exactly friends. They had a disagreement in business, and that is how the trouble occurred. Do not say anything to my brother about it; it might make him angry." "With me, dear?" "Oh, no," said Charlotte, without thinking, "he could not be angry with you." "With you, then?" said Mrs. Grantham, her mind half on Charlotte and half on herself. "I don't know how it is," said Charlotte, in a tone of distress, "but I seem to be saying things I ought not to speak of. If I were clever it would not happen." "You are clever, dear, and you are good; that is why I love you." "If I only thought that what I have said without intending it, and what perhaps I have made you think without intending it, wouldn't make you run away from us----" "I will not run away, Charlotte. If you wish it, I will stay as long as I have promised." "I do wish it; with all my heart I wish it. I never had a friend like you; I never had a sister----" But here Charlotte quite broke down; her sobs would not allow her to proceed. "There, there, dear," said Mrs. Grantham, soothing her. "Tears on your birthday! Why, Charlotte, what are you thinking of? And with a true friend by your side----!" "I know, I know," murmured Charlotte. "I am very ungrateful." "You are a dear, loveable young woman, and you have won my heart. And who knows whether I may not be able to help you just where you most need help? There is a knock at the door. Don't move; no one must catch you crying, or they will have a bad opinion of me. I will go and see who it is." It was a maid with a little parcel for Charlotte. "I was to give it to Miss Fox-Cordery at once, ma'am," said the maid, "and I was told she was in your room." "She is here," said Mrs. Grantham, "and she shall have it immediately." The maid departed, and Mrs. Grantham locked the door, so as to be secure from intrusion. "Something for you, dear. I guess a birthday present." "Oh!" cried Charlotte eagerly, starting to her feet and holding out her hand. "The question is, from whom," said Mrs. Grantham, with tender playfulness. "I know!" said Charlotte, still more eagerly. "From your brother?" Charlotte shook her head rather sadly. "From your mother?" Another sad shake of Charlotte's head. "They have given you something already, perhaps!" "No, Mrs. Grantham; I do not expect anything from them. They do not make birthday presents." "Don't think I want to tease you; I only want to find out how I can best serve you. I will not keep you in suspense any longer. Here it is, dear." Charlotte opened the packet clumsily, her fingers trembled so, and disclosed a tiny note and a small jewel case. The note ran: My Dear Charlotte: Accept this, with my fond and constant love. Ever yours, John.