A shake of the head answered.
“Don’t you know? Haven’t you the least idea?”
“No.”
“Not the very smallest? But you must have seen her some time or other. She evidently knows you quite well.”
“The knowledge is not reciprocal, Dulcie. I have no association with the name.”
“No—with her married name—she says you won’t recognize that; and ‘M’ may mean anything. But can’t you think of anybody you have been kind to—a Mary, or Maria, or Millie—somebody whose family you have helped in some way?”
George might have recalled a good many people to whom he had been kind, and a good many families helped by himself; but there was again a negative gesture.
“Memories are treacherous sometimes, Dulcie. Mine doesn’t serve me at the present moment.”
He turned to Mrs. Flint, and put a few inquiries, eliciting from her nothing in the way of information.
Dulcibel, at George’s suggestion, went into Mrs. Brooke’s bedroom, to search for any letters or papers which might have been left behind. Again the result was nothing, till, at the moment when Dulcibel was about to quit the room, a small folded paper, lying on the floor in a corner, attracted her attention. She caught it up, gave one glance, and rushed into the other room.