Eva turned her eyes on the white face which was reading hers with such pathetic earnestness, and all the angry surprise his abrupt address had kindled, died out under the sad penetration of his glance.
“My name is Laurence—Eva Laurence,” she answered, with gentle courtesy. “Pray, why do you care to know?”
“I can scarcely tell you, young lady. Excuse me, there must be some mistake. Laurence—did you say Laurence?”
“That is my name.”
“And your father?”
“My father is dead,” answered the girl, with a flush about her drooping eyelids, under which quick tears were springing.
“Dead? But your mother?”
“She is living.”
“Ah! But you have other relatives—brothers, sisters, perhaps?”
“Yes, I have a brother and one sister.”