"I wanted to see you, Mr. Brace," continued the stately lady, "to ask how the child is whom we saw at the farm."
Mark was himself again with something to say of Doris. His face brightened.
"She is not a child now, your grace; she has grown to be a beautiful girl."
"Is she still beautiful?" asked her grace.
"I do not think the sun, when it rises in the morning, is brighter," replied Mark, with unconscious poetry.
"I am almost sorry to hear it," said her grace. "There are more qualities than beauty for a girl in her position, Mr. Brace."
"Yes; but we can't help it."
"And," interrupted the duchess, "have you heard any more? Do you know to whom she belongs? Have you any trace of her parentage?"
Lady Estelle shut her jeweled fan, and laid it on the table. Her eyes were fixed on Mark's face.
"No, your grace," he replied. "We know no more than we did on the day she first came to us. The money comes every year. It always comes from London, generally in Bank of England notes, quite new and crisp; sometimes gold packed in a little box. It never fails."