"But you have another name—a family name!"
"Oh, to be sure; most people have."
"Would you—would you tell it me?" inquired Sybil, hesitatingly.
The girl looked at her quizzingly.
"Believe me, I do not ask from idle curiosity," added Sybil.
"Oh, no; to be sure not. We are not a bit curious—we!"
"You needn't tell me," said Sybil.
"Oh, but I will. My family name? It is not a very noble one. It is indeed a very humble one—Dewberry."
"Dubarry!" exclaimed Sybil, catching her breath.
"Oh bother, no. I wish it was. That was the name of the great family who once owned all this great manor, which went to wreck and ruin for want of an heir!—oh, no; my name is Dewberry—the little fruit vine, you know, that runs along the ground, and takes its name from its cool berries being always found deep in the dew. Besides, I am English, and descended through my great-grandmother Gentiliska from the English gipsies. She was a gipsy queen."