"That's Mrs. Holly," said she. "Emily said that picture was here."
And turning back to the canvas, she added under her breath, "You
darling!"

"Did you know her?" Barry asked, surprised.

"Did I know her!" Mrs. Burgoyne echoed softly, without turning.
"Yes, I knew her," she added, almost musingly. And then suddenly she
said, "Come, let's look upstairs," and led the way by the twisted
sunny back stairway, which had a window on every landing and Crimson
Rambler roses pressing against every window. They looked into
several bedrooms, all dusty, close, sunshiny. In the largest of
these, a big front corner room, carpeted in dark red, with a black
marble fireplace and an immense walnut bed, Mrs. Burgoyne, looking
through a window that she had opened upon the lovely panorama of
river and woods, said suddenly:

"This must be my room, it was hers. She was the best friend, in one
way, that I ever had--Mrs. Holly. How happy I was here!"

"Here?" Barry echoed.

At his tone she turned, and looked keenly at him, a little smile
playing about her lips. Then her face suddenly brightened.

"Barry, of course!" she exclaimed. "I KNEW I knew you, but the 'Mr.
Valentine' confused me." And facing him radiantly, she demanded,
"Who am I?"

Barry shook his head slowly, his puzzled, smiling eyes on hers. For