Mary Louise caught the slight, scornful smile that for a moment curled Alora's lips. But the girl replied very seriously:
"My father dislikes society. I believe he would be quite content to live in this little cooped-up place forever and see no one but the servants, to whom he seldom speaks. Also, he ignores me, and I am glad he does. But before my mother died," her voice breaking a little, "I was greatly loved and petted, and I can't get used to the change. I ought not to say this to strangers, I know, but I am very lonely and unhappy, because—because my father is so different from what my mother was."
Mary Louise was holding her trembling hand now and stroking it sympathetically.
"Tell us about your mother," she said softly. "Is it long since you lost her?"
"More than four years," returned Alora. "I was her constant companion and she taught me to love art and music and such things, for art was her hobby. I did not know my father in those days, you see, for—for—they did not live together. But in her last illness mamma sent for him and made him my guardian. My mother said that my father would love me, but she must have misjudged him."
Colonel Hathaway had listened with interest.
"Tell me your mother's name," said he.
"She was Mrs. Antoinette Seaver Jones, and—"
"Indeed!" exclaimed the Colonel. "Why, I knew Antoinette Seaver before she married, and a more beautiful and cultured woman I never met. Her father, Captain Seaver, was my friend, and I met his daughter several times, both at his mining camp and in the city. So you see, my dear, we must be friends."
Alora's eyes fairly glistened with delight and Mary Louise was as pleased as she was surprised.