Miss Bull gave him her hand with a great deal of pleasure, and invited him to be seated. Now that she had thawed towards George she treated him kindly, and her face wore a less stony look. As the sun melts the frost, so did the reserved nature of the old maid melt when in the sunshine of Brendon's presence. More than that, Miss Bull actually congratulated herself on Margery's absence, as it gave her a chance of having the company of George all to herself. "I am very glad to see you, Mr. Brendon," she said, ringing the bell. "You will have some tea?" "Thank you," replied Brendon, who thought she might thaw still more under the influence of the tea-urn. "I suppose you wonder why I have come again so soon?" Miss Bull smiled in her calm way. "You have come to make further inquiries likely to forward your fight for your birthright?" George laughed. "There's no need for that, thank God," said he; "my grandfather has agreed to acknowledge me." "Then there was a marriage?" "I cannot be certain of that yet. How do you know about that?" Miss Bull answered quietly: "You told me last time you were here that you were Lord Derrington's grandson, and I heard that there was some doubt about the legitimacy." "I know it was common talk at one time," replied Brendon, satisfied with this explanation. "Did Mrs. Jersey ever speak about it?" "No. She never did. What did she know about it?" "I think you can best answer that question, Miss Bull." George looked hard at her, and a faint tinge of color crept into her face. Before she could reply with a counter-question the servant brought in the tea. Miss Bull waited to supply George with a cup before she spoke. By that time the servant had left the room, and the door, as Miss Bull assured herself, was closed. "I don't know to what you allude, Mr. Brendon." "Perhaps if I allude to your life in San Remo you----" Miss Bull started to her feet and the cup she held fell on the carpet. "San Remo," she muttered. "Yes, Miss Howard," said Brendon, using her real name purposely. The little old maid put one thin hand to her head. "Miss Howard!" "The daughter of the late General Howard!" said George. "My father was a general." "He was. General Howard. You are Miss Jenny Howard." Miss Bull started and then sat down. Her face expressed pain. "He used to call me Jenny. Jenny Howard. Yes, there was a happy girl of that name, but she--she died." "Not at all," said Brendon, briskly, to arouse her from this dreamy state. "She lived and changed her name to Bull." The woman pushed back her white hair and made an effort to be calm. But her lip quivered. "Why have you come here to awaken these painful memories?" she asked. "Because I wish to know how my father came by his death." "I do not know--indeed, I do not know," moaned Miss Bull, putting out her hand as though to ward off the thought. "You may not know for certain, but you have some idea. Your sister, Mrs. Ward----"