“I rejoice to hear it—for your sake,” he answered, fervently. “Tell me her name,” and he drew out a tiny note-book.
“Maryon—Miss Maryon—that is all I know,” said Hertha.
“Miss Marion,” he wrote, “Marion what?”
“Oh, it is her surname—M-a-r-y, not ‘i’,” she corrected. “Lady Campion mentioned it in her note. A Miss Maryon who was dying to meet me, or some nonsense.”
“It is too bad,” Mr Montague repeated. “But I will see what I can do, and she must call at the office to be examined as to her capabilities. ‘Maryon,’ an uncommon name. There are some rich people—a very old family—Maryons down in Brakeshire.”
“Ah, she can’t belong to them, poor girl,” said Hertha.
And then, feeling she had done her duty, she and Mr Montague turned to other things.