Considering the age she admitted and her extreme beauty it seemed probable that she must be.

It occurred to her that the acquaintance had been made without any presentation, and that neither knew the other's name.
"Since I am a little the younger," she said, "I should tell you who I am." Unorna made a slight movement.

She was on the point of saying that she knew already--and too well.
"I am Beatrice Varanger." "I am Unorna." She could not help a sort of cold defiance that sounded in her tone as she pronounced the only name she could call hers.
"Unorna ?" Beatrice repeated, courteously enough, but with an air of surprise.
"Yes--that is all.

It seems strange to you?
They called me so because I was born in February, in the month we call Unor.

Indeed it is strange, and so is my story--though it would have little interest for you." "Forgive me, you are wrong, It would interest me immensely--if you would tell me a little of it; but I am such a stranger to you----" "I do not feel as though you are that," Unorna answered with a very gentle smile.
"You are very kind to say so," said Beatrice quietly.
Unorna was perfectly well aware that it must seem strange, to say the least of it, that she should tell Beatrice the wild story of her life, when they had as yet exchanged barely a hundred words.