“Was that young girl who just went out a stranger here, Mrs. Selby, or is she stopping in the village? Seems to me I don’t recall her face.”
“Oh, she ain’t exactly a stranger,” replied Mrs. Selby with alacrity, quite waking up at the prospect of retailing a bit of gossip; “But she ain’t been around here so long—only a couple of weeks or so. She comes in here once in a while, but she ain’t very friendly like—never passes the time o’ day nor nothing,—just asks for what she wants and goes out. I never did quite take to manners like that. Nobody else here acts so—not even the summer folks. I can’t think how she was brung up! They do say as she ain’t an American,—that she’s English or something,—but I don’t know for sure. Anyhow, she don’t mix with no one—just runs around in that ottymobile all the time.”
“Where’s she stopping?” went on Phyllis. “The hotel is closed. I thought all the summer people but ourselves had gone.”
“Oh, she’s boarding up to Aunt Sally Blake’s. I dunno how she come to go there, but there she is. I wonder how Aunt Sally gets along with her?”
“Have you heard what her name is?” pursued Phyllis, as she received her parcel.
“They do say her name is Ramsay—Miss Ramsay. Good morning, young ladies, and thank you. Come in again soon.”
When they were out on the street, Leslie clutched Phyllis spasmodically and her eyes were almost popping out of her head.
“Is there the least doubt in your mind now, Phyllis Kelvin?” she demanded. “Her name is Ramsay—the very same name that was on the envelop in the book!”
And Phyllis was obliged to acknowledge herself convinced.