"You lived in England; you were brought up there?" she said, still in the same impassive voice.
"Yes," said Derrick. "I lived in London, with my guardian—with the people who took care of me—until they died. Then I went to a place in the country, a quiet place where I could study with less interruption than one gets in London."
"You were all alone—I mean, you had no relatives?" asked Donna Elvira.
"No," said Derrick, gravely; and, after a pause, he added: "You will think this strange, too, señora—I know nothing, literally nothing, of my family. It is just possible that I have no relations. There are such cases. Anyway, though of course I asked the usual questions of my guardians, they could, or would, tell me nothing. Perhaps they didn't know. All I could learn was that they had known my mother quite slightly—and that they had been much surprised when I was brought to them with the request that they would adopt me."
"Do you desire to tell me, señor, why you left England?" asked Donna Elvira.
"Yes; I want to," said Derrick, after a moment or two's silence. "I feel as if I wanted to confide in someone. Perhaps it's because you've been so kind to me, have—well, taken me on trust. But I'm afraid I can't tell you, señora. You see, other persons are mixed up with the affair. Let it go at this—I beg your pardon, I mean I hope you will be satisfied if I confine myself to saying that I got into trouble over there in England."
"Trouble?" She knitted her brows. "You mean—what do you mean?"
"There you are!" said Derrick, with a shrug of despair. "I was accused of—well, something that I didn't do, but to which I couldn't plead innocence."
Donna Elvira regarded him closely.
"You shall tell me no more," she said, "but this: You have no other name than the one you have given me?"