being in the house, desired my services as an eligible companion to this
young lady.

So I said good-bye to the school and went to London, and was driven to
Mr. Kenge's office. He was not altered, but he was surprised to see how
altered I was, and appeared quite pleased.

"As you are going to be the companion of the young lady who is now in
the Chancellor's private room, Miss Summerson," he said, "we thought it
well that you should be in attendance also."

Mr. Kenge gave me his arm, and we went out of his office and into the
court, and then into a comfortable sort of room where a young lady and a
young gentleman were standing talking.

They looked up when I came in, and I saw in the young lady a beautiful
girl, with rich golden hair, and a bright, innocent, trusting face.

"Miss Ada," said Mr. Kenge, "this is Miss Summerson."

She came to meet me with a smile of welcome and her hand extended, but
seemed to change her mind in a moment, and kissed me.

The young gentleman was her distant cousin, she told me, and his name
Richard Carstone. He was a handsome youth, and after she had called him
up to where we sat, he stood by us, talking gaily, like a light-hearted
boy. He was very young, not more than nineteen then, but nearly two
years older than she was. They were both orphans, and had never met
before that day. Our all three coming together for the first time in
such an unusual place was a thing to talk about, and we talked about it.