"Very much. Everybody is so kind to me. Besides"--Sylvia
lowered her voice so that nobody but the Old Lady could hear
it--"I have a fairy godmother here who does the most beautiful
and wonderful things for me."

Sylvia, being a girl of fine instincts, did not look at Old
Lady Lloyd as she said this. But she would not have seen
anything if she had looked. The Old Lady was not a Lloyd for
nothing.

"How very interesting," she said, indifferently.

"Isn't it? I am so grateful to her and I have wished so much
she might know how much pleasure she has given me. I have
found lovely flowers and delicious berries on my path all
summer; I feel sure she sent me my party dress. But the
dearest gift came last week on my birthday--a little volume of
my father's poems. I can't express what I felt on receiving
them. But I longed to meet my fairy godmother and thank her."

"Quite a fascinating mystery, isn't it? Have you really no
idea who she is?"

The Old Lady asked this dangerous question with marked
success. She would not have been so successful if she had not
been so sure that Sylvia had no idea of the old romance
between her and Leslie Gray. As it was, she had a comfortable
conviction that she herself was the very last person Sylvia
would be likely to suspect.