Lady Jane’s face assumed an expression of blank astonishment. “Your solicitors! What nonsense is this?” “In view of the fact that Lionel has told you about our engagement, it may have some importance--even in your eyes.” There was something so extraordinarily calm about the young person’s manner, that Lady Jane began to take another view of the matter. “I believe you must be an escaped lunatic,” she said with deliberation, and fixing her cold eyes on the governess’s pretty face. But nothing happened; she did not shrink and cower under the glance, as Lady Jane supposed that an escaped lunatic would, on being found out. “Perhaps you would like to see the last letter I have received?” said Miss Scott. Lady Jane hesitated, for it seemed beneath her dignity to prolong the interview. She would have turned her back on the governess if she had not been made really curious by her calm and dignified manner, and by her allusion to “solicitors.” Just then, too, it occurred to the injured matron that the girl might have committed some offence for which she was to be tried, and that the “solicitors” were those whom her adopted father had engaged for the defence. This was ingenious, if it was nothing else. Lady Jane, who was both very angry and at the same time very curious, suddenly contracted her eyelids, as if she were short-sighted, and held her head higher than ever. “I am willing to look at the letter,” she said, “on the mere chance that it may show your--er--atrocious conduct--in a somewhat less--er--unfavourable light!” Miss Scott smiled sweetly, and produced a large envelope from the inside of her coat--for, being a governess, she possessed a pocket. She handed the paper to Lady Jane, who saw at a glance that it was a genuine solicitor’s letter, from a highly respectable firm of whom she had often heard. The envelope was addressed to “Miss Ellen Scott,” but when Lady Jane took out and unfolded the contents, she saw that they were addressed to “Miss Diana Trevelyan.” “Trevelyan?” she cried angrily. “Diana Trevelyan? What absurdity is this? What have you to do with any Diana Trevelyan, pray?” [Illustration: “‘You? The daughter of Sir Randolph? You’re mad!’”] “It’s me,” Miss Scott answered patiently, in a small voice. “You?” Lady Jane’s eyes glittered and glared again. “Yes. I was a doorstep baby, as I told you; and now they’ve found out at last that I am Diana Trevelyan, the only child of Sir Randolph, who died in an insane asylum a few days ago.” “You? The daughter of Sir Randolph? You’re mad!” “No, I’m not mad, though my father was. If you will only read the letter, you will understand. You see, all his Lincolnshire estates come to me, so it makes rather a difference, doesn’t it?” “Rather a difference!”