dream as we walked up the avenue together. In waking life I had never
been near enough to her to notice a small scar, and Mimsey had no scar
of the kind in the old days--of that I felt sure, for I had seen much of
Mimsey lately.

I grew more accustomed to the situation, and ventured to say that I had
once met her at Lady Cray's in London.

"Oh yes; I remember. Giulia Grisi sand the 'Willow Song.'" And then she
crinkled up her eyes, and laughed, and blushed, and went on: "I noticed
you standing in a corner, under the famous Gainsborough. You reminded me
of a dear little French boy I once knew who was very kind to me when I
was a little girl in France, and whose father you happen to be like. But
I found that you were Mr. Ibbetson, an English architect, and, Lady Cray
tells me, a very rising one"

"I _was_ a little French boy once. I had to change my name to please a
relative, and become English--that is, I was always _really_ English,
you know."

"Good Heavens, what an extraordinary thing! What _was_ your name, then?"

"Pasquier-Gogo Pasquier!" I groaned, and the tears came into my eyes,
and I looked away. The duchess made no answer, and when I turned and
looked at her she was looking at me, very pale, her lips quite white,
her hands tightly clasped in her lap, and trembling all over.

I said, "You used to be little Mimsey Seraskier, and I used to carry you
pickaback!"