Agnes saw both the smile and the sadness as she gave her hand to the girl, and led her into one of the drawing-rooms. “You must have some tea before changing your dress,” she said. (She had not failed to notice that the girl's travelling dress was extremely well made, and that her hat was in perfect taste. She knew that most women are to be known by their hats.) Then she stood in front of the girl, looking into her face tenderly. “I should know you in a moment from your likeness to your mother,” she continued. “Ah, you did not see her recently,” said Clare, with a little sob. “I did not see her since you were born,” said Agnes. “But still I recollect her face distinctly. I can see her before me when I look at you now. Poor woman! She suffered; but she had you. No one could take you from her.” “That may have been a consolation to her long ago,” said Clare, “but I am afraid that during her last illness the thought of my future was a great burden to her. You see, we had no relations in the world; at least, none to whom I could be sent.” “I feel that it was kind of your mother to think of me,” said Agnes, as they seated themselves and drank their tea. “She used to speak daily of you, Miss Mowbray,” said the girl. “She told me how attracted she had been to your mother until--Ah, I heard the sad story. Believe me, she was bitterly punished.” “Poor creature! I knew that she had been unhappy. Your father--I have been trying to recollect his name during the past few days, but I have not been successful.' “I never heard what his name was. My mother kept it from me from the first. She said she never wished to hear it again. It was not until I was fifteen that I learned that she bore her maiden name, and not my father's. I fear he was--well, he cannot have been a good man.” “We need not refer to him again. I have no curiosity on the subject, I assure you.” “I have long ago lost any that I once had. I hope I am not an unnatural daughter, but I have no wish to hear anything about my father.” “Instead of talking about him, my dear, we will talk together about your mother. I feel that in entrusting you to me she paid me the greatest compliment in her power. I am sure that we shall be friends--sisters, Clare.” “How good you are! Ah, we shall be sisters. My dear mother knew you; though I feared--I told you so in my letter--that you would consider the claim made upon you a singular one. I did not say so to her; I did not wish her last days to be worried with doubts, so I promised her to go to you, and she gave me a letter which was to introduce me. She desired me to put it into your hand. I do so now, though there is no need for it, is there?” “None whatever,” said Agnes, smiling, as she took the sealed letter which the girl handed to her. “I shall read it at my leisure. Oh no; you do not need any letter of introduction to me.”