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He roused himself.

“Your mother lives at the Crystal Palace, did you say?” He propped himself on his elbows, nibbling a straw and frowning meditatively at Laura, who sat, hugging her knees, hunched like a witch against the wall of the stack. “Oh, no! She’s only staying there—till she gets well.”

“Then where do you live?”

“Oh, I live with Mother. But I’m staying with Gran’papa.”

“Yes, but where?”

“I told you,” she reminded him reproachfully, “at Brackenhurst. Behind Beech Hill.”

“Brackenhurst! I didn’t know you said Brackenhurst. Why, I live at Brackenhurst,” he informed her.

“Oh! Then I’ll see you again.” There was most flattering satisfaction in her voice.

He continued, unheeding—

“Funny I haven’t run across you before now. Of course—you only came in May. And we were at the Lakes all the hols. What did you say was your grandfather’s name?”

“Gran’papa. Gran’papa Valentine.”

“Not old Valentine of Green Gates? Oh, then you’re one of the new grandchildren! Of course. Oh, I know all about you now. But I thought—didn’t some one say——?” Before he realized that he must check himself he had blurted out his perplexity. “But I thought your mother was dead.” Then, horrified at himself—“that is—I mean to say—of course it can’t be the same——” and so stopped helplessly.