Her pleasant tone put him at his ease.
"No; it was very kind of you, and one good turn deserves another. Were you looking for any particular road or house?"
"Yes, for Sandringham, in the Greville Road."
She stood aside and pointed to the name on the little wooden gate.
"Why, this is it!" gasped Harry Ringrose.
"Yes; this is Sandringham," said the girl, with a sort of shamefaced humour. "No wonder you are disappointed!"
His eyes came guiltily from the little house with the big name. "Then are you Miss Lowndes?" he inquired aghast.
"That is my name—Mr. Ringrose."
Spoken with the broadest smile, this was the last straw so far as Harry's manners were concerned.
"How on earth do you know mine?" cried he.