"Yes, very pretty," Marigold replied. "I was going to say so, only I was afraid you might think me rude for noticing it to you."
"Louisa brought it home from Brighton for me last winter," Mrs. Barker explained.
"Louisa?" Marigold said questioningly.
"Yes, miss. Why, you don't mean to tell me you don't know who Louisa is?" the old woman exclaimed, laughing.
"Who is she?" Marigold asked, feeling bewildered at the amusement she saw on the faces of mother and daughter.
"Why, Louisa is my daughter, to be sure!" Mrs. Barker responded.
"What, Barker? Oh, how silly of me not to guess! But, do you know, I never knew what her name was before!"
"They always call me by my surname at Powderham Crescent," Barker informed her mother, "so, of course, Miss Marigold could not tell who you were talking about."
Presently Marigold asked Mrs. Barker if she ever saw her old mistress, Mrs. Adams, now.
"No, miss, never," was the reply. "When I married I went to live at Plymouth; and afterwards, when my husband died, and I came back to Exeter, I thought maybe Mrs. Adams had had so much trouble herself she would not care about seeing me, and I did not wish to intrude on her grief—poor lady! I daresay you've heard tell, miss, how she lost her husband and children at one time—all but the baby?"