"So it would," said Dorothy; "and now I'll tell you another notion of mine, Richard. Somehow or other, it has come into my head that Alizon is the daughter of—whom do you think?"
"Whom!" he cried.
"Guess," she rejoined.
"I can't," he exclaimed, impatiently.
"Well, then, I'll tell you without more ado," she answered. "Mind, it's only my notion, and I've no precise grounds for it. But, in my opinion, she's the daughter of the lady who has just left the room."
"Of Mistress Nutter!" ejaculated Richard, starting. "What makes you think so?"
"The extraordinary and otherwise unaccountable interest she takes in her," replied Dorothy. "And, if you recollect, Mistress Nutter had an infant daughter who was lost in a strange manner."
"I thought the child died," replied Richard; "but it may be as you say. I hope it is so."
"Time will show," said Dorothy; "but I have made up my mind about the matter."
At this moment Nicholas Assheton came up to them, looking grave and uneasy.