"Mr.
Lofton is my grandfather." The girl seemed much surprised at this avowal, and appeared less at ease than before.
"And now, having told you who I am," said Mark, "I think I may be bold enough to ask your name." "My name is Jenny Lawson," replied the girl.
"A pretty name, that--Jenny--I always liked the sound of it.

My mother's name was Jenny.

Did you ever see my mother?
But don't tremble so! Sit down, and tell your fluttering heart to be still." Jenny sunk into a chair, her bosom heaving, and the crimson flush still glowing on her cheeks, while Mark gazed into her face with undisguised admiration.
"Who would have thought," said he to himself, "that so sweet a wild flower grew in this out of the way place." "Did you ever see my mother, Jenny ?" asked the young man, after she was a little composed.
"Mrs.Clifford ?" "Yes." "Often." "Then we will be friends from this moment, Jenny.

If you knew my mother then, you must have loved her.

She has been dead now over three years." There was a shade of sadness in the young man's voice as he said this.
"When did you see her last ?" he resumed.
"The summer before she died she came up from New York and spent two or three weeks here.