It represented a family group, father, mother, and child; and for a moment he seemed too surprised to speak. Then he asked, in a very excited tone, “Mrs. Lanier, where did you get this—and who is the lady?”
“She is a friend of mine,” said Mrs. Lanier, much surprised. “Why do you ask—have you ever seen her?”
“Yes, yes; and I have a copy of this picture. It is such a strange story; but first, before I say a word, please tell me who she is, and all about her.”
“Why, Arthur, you seem greatly interested,” returned Mrs. Lanier, with a smile. “The lady is my dear friend, Jane Chetwynd. We were classmates at boarding-school in New York; her father is the rich Mr. Chetwynd. You have heard of him, haven’t you?”
“Yes, indeed; but please go on.”
“Do you want all the history?”
“Everything, please. I’ve a serious reason for wanting to know all about the originals of this photograph.”
“Well, the gentleman is Jane’s husband, Mr. Churchill, an Englishman, and the little girl is ‘Lady Jane,’ their only child. There’s quite a romance connected with Jane’s history, and I’m just now floundering in a sea of darkness in regard to that same Jane Chetwynd.”
“If you please, go on, and perhaps I can help you out,” urged the young man, eagerly and abruptly.
“Well, as it’s a subject I’m greatly interested in, I don’t mind telling you the whole story. Jane Chetwynd was the only daughter; her mother died when she was a child. Jane was her father’s idol; he had great plans for her, and when she was only eighteen he hoped she would marry one of the rich Bindervilles. Jane, however, married a young Englishman who was in her father’s employ. The young man was handsome, as you can see by his picture, well born, and well educated; but he was unknown and poor. To Richard Chetwynd that was unpardonable, and therefore he disowned Jane—cut her off entirely, refused to see her, or even to allow her name to be mentioned.