“I should think I am, considering that Miss Loftus is going to marry my brother—Lord Nesfield’s only son.”
“You don’t say so!” he exclaimed, in unfeigned amazement.
“But I do—the wedding is fixed to take place in ten days’ time. Shall we go outside this tent, and stroll about a little?—impossible to talk here.”
“Certainly,” and he moved a chair out of her way, and followed Lady Foxrock down towards the polo ground.
“I suppose there is no mistake, Mr. Dexter,” she began, “and you really recognise these people?”
“I recognise Mrs. Loftus. I could swear to her anywhere, to her white face and prominent blue eyes. The girl was only two, when I last saw her, but I believe her to be the same. She was very handsome, and her name, I believe, was Rata—named after a New Zealand flower.”
“Yes; it is Rata.”
“There never was any concealment or mystery respecting her. The Loftuses had no family. They were passionately fond of children, and they adopted a child, and, a short time after this, they moved away to the south island; and we lost sight of them.”
“Do you know who the child was?”
“Well”—with obvious reluctance—“yes, I do.”