"She was staying some fourteen or fifteen months ago with the Dalrymples of Moat Grange—it was at the time of Mr. Dalrymple's sad death—and she made your acquaintance there. She is Mary Lynn, my half-sister. My father died when I was a little lad, and my mother made a second marriage."
Miss Upton was silent, apparently revolving matters in her mind. "Did your sister know that I was her mother's early friend?" she asked.
"Oh no; I think not. She only spoke of you as a stranger—or, rather, as a friend of the Dalrymples. I never heard my mother speak of you at all—I do not suppose Mary has."
"That young girl had her mother's eyes," suddenly cried Miss Upton, "just as you have. They seemed familiar to me; I remember that; but I wanted the clue, which this name"—bending to look at the bag—"has supplied. C. Grubb—Christopher was your father's name."
"It is mine also."
"And Francis too!" she quickly cried.
"And Francis too—Francis Charles Christopher." It crossed his mind to wonder how she knew it was Francis, then remembered it must have been from the Acorns. Miss Upton had lifted her face, and was looking at him.
"Why did your mother name you Francis?" she asked, rather sharply.
"I was named Francis after my father's only brother. He was my godfather, and gave me his name—Francis Charles." And left me his money also, Mr. Grubb might have added, but did not.
"I see," nodded Miss Upton, apparently satisfied. "You have been letting Lord Acorn borrow no end of money of you on the strength of his coming into the Netherleigh estate," she resumed, in her open, matter-of-fact way, that spoke so much of candour.