"That child won't tell her other name, Sir," replied Mrs. Marks, reddening.
"Do you know it?"
"She won't tell it, Sir."
My grandfather fastened his keen black eyes full on me, and signed me to approach. He stood on the last step of the ladder. I went up to him; he gave my head a quick survey, then suddenly fixed the tip of his forefinger somewhere towards the summit, and exclaimed, in a tone that showed he had settled the bump and the question: "Firmness large; secretiveness too; but good moral and intellectual development. What is your name?"
"Margaret," I replied, unhesitatingly.
Margaret had been my mother's name. Mr. Thornton turned away at once.
"Margaret, go back to your room," shortly said Mrs. Marks.
Mr. Thornton was descending the staircase. He stopped to turn round, and observed, with great emphasis, "Miss Margaret, will you please to go back to your room?"
He went down without uttering another word.
Mrs. Marks became scarlet; and, declaring that she was not going to Miss Margaret any one, she retired to her own apartment in high dudgeon. I thought to spend this autumn evening, as usual, in the companionship of lamp, fire, books, and toys; but scarcely had Mrs. Marks brought me my light, and retired again, when Miss Grainger entered.