"And very likely it will astonish you still more to hear that in coming to this place I made a change for the better."
Max was too much surprised to make any comment.
"If you want to know my name, date of birth, parentage and the rest of it," went on the girl, in a tone of half-playful recklessness, "why, I have no details to give you. I don't know anything about myself, and nobody I know seems to know any more. Granny says she does, but I don't believe her."
She paused.
"Why, surely," began Max, "your own grandmother—"
"But I don't even know that she is my own grandmother," interrupted the girl, sharply. "If she were, wouldn't she know my name?"
"That seems probable, certainly."
"Well, she doesn't, or she says she doesn't. She pretends she has forgotten, or puts me off when I ask questions, though any one can understand my asking them."
This was puzzling, certainly. Max had no satisfactory explanation to offer, so he shook his head and tried to look wise. As long as she would go on talking, and about herself, too, he didn't care what she said.
"What does she call you?" asked he, after a silence.