"And you're not--you're not the daughter of that dreadful Smithson?"
burst forth Tilly, in a little transport of happy relief.

"'That dreadful Smithson'? Who is he, and who said I was his daughter?"

"_She_ said it," roared Will, darting a furious look at Agnes; "and she
cooked it all up out of this," suddenly pulling the paper from his
pocket.

"Give it to me!" cried Agnes, breathlessly, springing forward to snatch
the paper from his hand.

"No, no, you wanted me to give it to Miss Smith a minute ago, and now
I'll give it to--Miss Pelham, and let her see what you've wanted to
circulate about the house," answered Will.

"I--I--if I happened to notice it before the rest of you--and--and
thought that it might be this Miss Smith--"

"That it _must_ be! you insisted," broke in Will.

"With all that about the change of name, and the age of the girl,
and--and--the 'South America' I saw on the blotting-pad, and the South
American dress," went on Agnes, incoherently,--"if I happened to be
before you, you thought afterward, I know you did, that it might be;
and--"

"With a difference, with a difference!" suddenly rang out Peggy Pelham's
clear young voice in tones of indignation. She had read the newspaper