"Mrs. Loraine," answered she, with a visible shudder; though I could not tell whether it was caused by the mention of the lady's name, or by the cold chill of her wet condition.
"Is she your mother?" I continued; and it seemed to me that her answer to this question would enable me to decide whether or not to land her on the pier.
"No, no!" replied she, with the most decisive emphasis.
"But your names are the same."
"They are; of course she has my father's name."
I could not see why that followed, but I did not like to carry my questions to the point of impudence.
"Is your father at home?"
"My father is dead," she answered, in a very sad tone.
"Excuse me if I ask who the lady is that stands on the pier."
"Mrs. Loraine."