"No—that is—I came to see Miss Thornton," and his face fell.
"There is no Miss Thornton," she said, her dimples playing mischievously. "It is only I—now don't you know?"
"But how is it? I was told—I understood—"
"Pshaw! you stupid!" she said, with a bewitching pout, "if you had been a little more civil, you would have known that I am Mrs. Thornton's daughter—not Mr. Thornton's; that mamma is mamma, but papa isn't papa, and—"
But in an ecstacy of surprise and joy the rest of her sentence was entirely smothered.
"And you knew from the first?" he asked, reproachfully.
"Not from the first, but almost. They were all in the plot. I meant to snub you outright, only—well, somehow you didn't look as horrid as you really were! The 'John Smith' was almost too much for me, but I stood it. Then when the letter came—it was well for you I had seen you under the tree. So you wouldn't marry the heiress," she said, archly. "I did my very best to teach you a lesson, young man. Have you learned it?"
The answer was fervently though silently given the merry, rosy, smiling lips.