“Oh!” she said, “she hasn’t any name?”
“No,” Tom answered, without removing his eyes from his honeysuckle, “she hasn’t any name yet.”
“Well,” she exclaimed, “they were queer people.”
There was a moment’s silence which she spent in looking curiously both at him and his honeysuckle.
“What was her mother’s name?” she asked at last.
“I don’t know.”
Mrs. Rutherford sat up in her chair.
“You don’t know!”
“She was dying when I saw her first, and I never thought of asking.”
“But her father?”