| "And Iska, |
| And Iska, |
| And Iska's a lady." |
The girl went to a little trunk, unlocked it, and brought out the small silver casket. She touched a spring and the top flew open revealing a packet of papers, from which she selected one brown with age, and worn almost into squares by folding. She laid it before Sybil, who carefully unfolded it, and scrutinized it.
"There, you see!" said the lady at length, speaking in triumph. "There is the name of Philip Dubarry, as plain as a proctor's clerk could write it. Not Dewberry, mind you, but Dubarry. See for yourself."
"So it is!" exclaimed the girl in amazement. "Now do you know I never examined it so closely as to see the difference in the spelling of the name before? We were always called Dewberry; and Dewberry I thought we were."
"No; you were and are Dubarry, and in all human probability the sole heiress of this great manor."
"Stop a bit; oh, my eye! I mean, oh, my nose!"
"What's the matter?"
"I smell a mice!"
"What do you mean?"
"Satan knows I am a princess in disguise, and that's the very reason why he wants to marry me."