"That's our place."
"But I'm trying to remember where I have heard of it," I explained. "Of course! They all mentioned it at one time or another."
"They?—Who, my dear? Why Herbert—isn't this interesting?"
"Why, Washington Irving—and Lady Frances Webb—and Uncle James Christie."
Their questions and my half-dazed answers were tumbling over one another.
"James Christie—Grace Christie?" Mrs. Montgomery asked, connecting our names with a delighted opening of her eyes. "Why, my dear!"
"How fortunate I was!" observed Hilda. "I knew, though, from the moment I saw the back of your head that you were no ordinary American tourist!"
"They all 'rode over to Bannerley Hall—the day being fine!'" I quoted, from one of the letters written by Lady Frances Webb.
"That was in my great-grandfather's time," Mr. Montgomery elucidated. "And James Christie was your——"
"Uncle—with several 'greats' between."