At the same moment, down in the study, Mark was saying: "How did you ever happen to find them, Uncle George?— Mrs. Morrison and Frances, I mean. They are not like—everybody; they are the real thing. That Frances is a regular little princess! How did they happen to come here?"
"I, too, have wondered at it, my boy, but I have learned to take the good things that come my way without asking many questions," was the old man's reply.
CHAPTER FOURTEENTH.
THREE OF A NAME.
Frances stood thoughtfully looking out of the window. To-morrow would be New Year's Day and also her mother's birthday, and she had not remembered it till this morning. She wondered if she could not in some way get some flowers for her. She had her Christmas money from Uncle Allan in California, and there was nothing her mother enjoyed more than flowers, but who would go with her to get them? Zenobia was busy, and Emma was taking care of the General, who had had an attack of croup.
As she stood there Mark came up the walk and lifted his hat to her. "Perhaps he will take me," she said, and running into the hall she called from the head of the stairs: "Mark, are you very busy? Could you do something for me?"
"I am at your ladyship's command," was the reply.
"Then I'll come down and tell you, for it is a secret."
"Is it? Well, I'm splendid at keeping secrets."