She nodded.
"But I thought your name was Beecham," he said. "That of Meg, I understood, was Browne."
"Till I went to school I believed my name was Browne; but one day I was told it was Beecham," she said.
"You Meg, little Meg!" he replied, his eyes traveling slowly over her. "I can scarcely believe it."
"But all the same it is I!" she said with a laugh, as he kept looking at her. "Let me prove my identity—put me to the test; you will see how correctly I will answer," she said. "I remember the night when you put that patch on the old fashion-plate. I had crumpled it up in despair because you said that probably my mother was not a lady."
"That is true!" he replied, still looking scrutinizingly at her.
"I remember how I used to tease you about your dinners. I was quite motherly with you!"
"Motherly! Grandmotherly! Bless you, little Meg!" he cried, and then he laughed. "Is it you? Is it really you?" and he stretched out his two hands.
Meg placed hers into their clasp. "Yes, it is little Meg for whom you did that kind thing, of stopping the attacks upon Sir Malcolm."
"That was for tall Meg!" he said.