She wished now that she had given heed to her aunt, who had tried to persuade her not to come. But from the moment she heard when the exercises were to take place, her heart had been set upon it; and although Madame Alroyd deemed it a wild, unaccountable freak of Dora’s to break in upon their pleasure trip and go so far out of their way, she at length yielded the point, as she always did, to gratify every wish of her darling. “What is the matter with my pet?” she said, when they had removed their outer wrappings, and she noticed for the first time Dora’s sad face. “Were you not pleased with our countryman’s valedictory? But I need not ask you that, for your face was radiant during the whole of it, and I began to fear that, at last, my little girl had lost her heart. And no wonder, for I almost wished myself young again, if only for the privilege of trying to win the heart of our handsome hero of to-day. Eh, Dora?” And madam laughed at what she considered a very bright saying. A vivid blush spread itself over Dora’s fair face at this sally, which, upon noticing, Madame Alroyd laughed again, and exclaimed: “Ah! that’s it, is it? Surely I had not given myself credit for quite so much shrewdness.” Poor Dora could bear no more, but burst into a flood of tears. Her heart was full, well-nigh to bursting, and she longed to unburden her mind that she might gain sympathy and comfort. She had kept her secret thus far sacred; but its weight was getting too heavy for her to bear alone. Still she dreaded to reveal it, lest she should displease her aunt, who, she knew, was hoping great things for her in the future. “What is it, my darling? Have I wounded you so deeply? Forgive me; I was only rallying you on your somber looks.” Her darling’s tears alarmed her; and, going to Dora, she took her in her arms, and fondly kissed away the bright drops as they fell. For a few minutes Dora could not answer, for her sobs. But at length she suddenly sat up, and wiping her eyes, said earnestly, looking her aunt in the face: “Auntie, am I very much changed since you took me to live with you?” “Yes, dear, I think you are a good deal changed about many things; still you have many of your girlish ways and looks about you even now. You are Dora yet, but with considerable development, and a good deal of polish added. But why do you ask me such a question, my love?” “Because—because——” She hesitated a moment, deeply confused, then went on. “Do you think if a friend had not seen me for six years, he would know me now?” “What do you mean, Dora? Did you ever know Mr. Ellerton when he was a boy?” asked madam, suddenly, a light breaking in upon her mind, and half explaining Dora’s sadness. “Answer me, please, auntie, and then I will tell you what I mean,” pleaded Dora, earnestly, her cheeks taking a still deeper hue.