'Have you made one as to the cause of Miss Brotherton's graciousness to you yesterday?'

'At least I remarked the change.'

'I will tell you. There was a short notice of some of your writings in a certain magazine which I contrived should fall in her way.'

'Impossible!' I exclaimed. 'I have never put my name to anything.'

'But you have put the same name to all your contributions.'

'How should the reviewer know it meant me?'

'Your own name was never mentioned.'

I thought she looked a little confused as she said this.

'Then how should Miss Brotherton know it meant me?'

She hesitated a moment--then answered:

'Perhaps from internal evidence.--I suppose I must confess I told her.'

'Then how did _you_ know?

'I have been one of your readers for a long time.'

'But how did you come to know my work?'

'That has oozed out.'

'Some one must have told you,' I said.

'That is my secret,' she replied, with the air of making it a mystery in order to tease me.

'It must be all a mistake,' I said. 'Show me the magazine.'

'As you won't take my word for it, I won't.'

'Well, I shall soon find out. There is but one could have done it. It is very kind of him, no doubt; but I don't like it. That kind of thing should come of itself--not through friends.'

'Who do you fancy has done it?'

'If you have a secret, so have I.'

My answer seemed to relieve her, though I could not tell what gave me the impression.

'You are welcome to yours, and I will keep mine,' she said. 'I only wanted to explain Miss Brotherton's condescension yesterday.'

'I thought you were going to explain why you didn't come to-day.'

'That is only a re-action. I have no doubt she thinks she went too far yesterday.'

'That is absurd. She was civil; that was all.'

'In reading your thermometer, you must know its zero first,' she replied sententiously. 'Is the sword you call yours there still?'

'Yes, and I call it mine still.'

'Why don't you take it, then? I should have carried it off long ago.'

'To steal my own would be to prejudice my right,' I returned. 'But I have often thought of telling Sir Giles about it.'

'Why don't you, then?'

'I hardly know. My head has been full of other things, and any time will do. But I should like to see it in its own place once more.'

I had taken it from the wall, and now handed it to her.

'Is this it?' she said carelessly.

'It is--just as it was carried off my bed that night.'

'What room were you in?' she asked, trying to draw it from the sheath.

'I can't tell. I've never been in it since.'

'You don't seem to me to have the curiosity natural to a--'

'To a woman--no,' I said.

'To a man of spirit,' she retorted, with an appearance of indignation.

'I don't believe you can tell even how it came into your possession!'

'Why shouldn't it have been in the family from time immemorial?'

'So!--And you don't care either to recover it, or to find out how you lost it!'

'How can I? Where is Mr Close?'

'Why, dead, years and years ago.'

'So I understood. I can't well apply to him, then, and I am certain no one else knows.'

'Don't be too sure of that. Perhaps Sir Giles--'

'I am positive Sir Giles knows nothing about it.'

'I have reason to think the story is not altogether unknown in the family.'