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“We were laughing over some childish reminiscence, when Miss Martha tapped me on the shoulder and said rather louder than usual–

“‘Dear Mary, there are some engravings here, my love, I should like you to look at.’

“I felt rather astonished, for I knew every book and picture in the house as well as I knew my own, but I followed her to a table, when she added, in a fluttering whisper–

“‘You’ll excuse my interrupting you, my love, I’m sure; but it was becoming quite particular.’

“I blushed redder than the crimson silk binding of the ‘Keepsake’ before me. I wished I could honestly have misunderstood Miss Martha’s meaning. But I could not. Had I indeed talked too much and too long to a gentleman and a stranger? (It startled me to reflect how rapidly we had passed that stage of civil commonplace which was the normal condition of my intercourse with the gentlemen of the town.) I was certainly innocent of any intentional transgression of those bounds of reticence and decorum which are a young lady’s best friends, but as to the length of my conversation with the merchant I felt quite uncertain and unspeakably alarmed.

“I was indulging a few hasty and dismal reflections when Miss Martha continued–

“‘When I was young, dear Mary, I remember a valuable piece of advice that was given me by my excellent friend and schoolmistress, Miss Peckham, “If you are only slightly acquainted with a gentleman, talk of indifferent matters. If you wish to be friendly but not conspicuous, talk of his affairs; but only if you mean to be very intimate, speak of yourself;”‘ and adding, ‘I’m sure you’ll forgive me, my love,’ Miss Martha fluttered from the table.

“At the moment I was feeling provoked both with her and with myself, and did not feel so sure about the forgiveness as she professed to be; but of one thing I felt perfectly certain. Nothing but sheer necessity should induce me to speak another syllable to the London merchant.

“Circumstances did not altogether favour my resolution. I scrupulously avoided so much as a look at Mr. Smith, though in some mysterious way I became conscious that he and my father were having a long tete-a-tete conversation in a corner. I devoted myself exclusively to the rector’s wife till supper, and then I carefully chose the opposite side of the table to that to which the merchant seemed to be going. But when I was fairly seated, for some reason he gave up his place to someone else, and when it was impossible for me to change my seat, he took the one next to it. It was provoking, but I steadily resisted his attempts to talk, and kept my face as much averted as possible. Once or twice he helped me to something on the table, but I barely thanked him, and never lifted my eyes to his face. I could not, however, avoid seeing the hand that helped me, and idly noticing a ring that I had remarked before, when he was playing. It was a fine blue stone, a lapis lazuli, curiously and artistically set. ‘Rich merchants can afford such baubles!’ I thought. It was very tasteful, however, and did not look like English work. There was something engraven upon it, which did not look like English either. Was it Greek? I glanced at it with some curiosity, for it reminded me of–but that was nonsense, a fancy that came because the subject was in my mind. At this moment the hand and ring were moved close to me and I looked again.

“It was not a fancy. There was no mistaking the inscription this time. I had learnt it too thoroughly–written it too often–loved it too well–it was Reka Dom.

“For a moment I sat in blind astonishment. Then the truth suddenly flashed upon me. The merchant’s name was the name of our predecessors at Reka Dom. True, it was such a common one that I had met more than one family of Smiths since then without dreaming of any connection between them and the River House. And yet, of course, it was there that the Misses Brooke had known him. Before our time. Which could he be? He was too young to be the father, and there was no John among the little Russians–unless, yes, it was the English version of one of the Russian names–and this was Ivan.