the search, grinning at its Quixotism all the time.'

'Have you done anything?'

'Yes. I have been to Jersey, seen the register--July 20, 1859--and
an old French-speaking clerk, who perfectly recollected the party
coming from the yacht, and spoke of her as tres belle. I have also
ascertained that there is no doubt of the validity of the marriage.
Then, deeply mistrusting Master Gregorio, I went on to Dieppe, where
I entirely failed to find any one who knew or remembered anything
about them--there is such a shifting population of English visitors
and residents, and it was so long ago. I elicited from my uncle that
she had an aunt, he thought, of the same name as herself; but my
father cannot remember who recommended her, or anything that can be a
clue. Has any one looked over my grandmother's letters?'

'I think not. My brother spoke of keeping them till I came to
London. That might give a chance, or the Houghtons might know about
her. I think my husband could get them hunted up. They are sure to
be at some continental resort.'

'What's that?' as a sound of singing was heard.

'"Auld Langsyne." The natives are picnicking in the ravine below
there. They used to be rigidly excluded, but we can't stand that;
and this is the first experiment of admitting them on condition that
they don't make themselves obnoxious.'

'Which they can't help.'