"Well, my dear, that won't hurt you!" and an encouraging smile brightened Miss Leigh's pleasantly wrinkled face. "You shall see the rooms. But you have not told me your name yet."
Again Innocent blushed.
"My name is Armitage," she said, in a low, hesitating tone—"Ena
Armitage."
"Armitage!"—Miss Leigh repeated the name with a kind of wondering accent—"Armitage? Are you any relative of the painter, Pierce Armitage?"
The girl's heart beat quickly—for a moment the little drawing-room seemed to whirl round her—then she collected her forces with a strong effort and answered—"No!"
The old lady's wistful blue eyes, dimmed with age, yet retaining a beautiful tenderness of expression, rested upon her anxiously.
"You are quite sure?"
Repressing the feeling that prompted her to cry out—"He was my father!" she replied—
"I am quite sure!"
Lavinia Leigh raised her little mittened hand and pointed to the portrait standing on the harpsichord: