Her voice was sweet and rich; she had a pretty, piquant accent, and the
play of her lips as she spoke was simply perfection.

"It is very lonely for you," she said. "There is great gloom over the
house, it is all sad and dark; but the brightness will come back in
time."

I touched the white hand she held out to me; it was warm and soft; the
touch of those slender fingers had a magical effect.

"I must apologize for not having seen you before," I said, "but until
five minutes ago I did not know you were in the house."

"No," she replied, with a faint sigh, "I can believe that."

"You must know," I continued, "that I am a complete stranger to the
family. I never saw any of them in my life. I never heard the name more
than five or six times."

"Then, as a matter of course," she said, "you never heard of me."

"I am at a loss to know whether I should address you as kinswoman or
not," was my confused reply.

"It would take a bench of lawyers to decide," she said. "My mother was a
favorite cousin of Sir Barnard. I think, but I am not sure, that once
upon a time he was fond of her himself. My mother married a French
gentleman, Monsieur d'Aubergne, and at her death Sir Barnard kindly
offered me a home here, since I had no other."