I am a relative of the governor.

I am from the East," Ethelyn volunteered, as she saw the girl expected some explanation.
Had Hannah known more of Ethelyn, she might have suspected something; but she had not been long in the family, and coming, as she did, from St.Louis, the story of her master's wife was rather mythical to her than otherwise.

That there was once a Mrs.Markham, who, for beauty, and style, and grandeur, was far superior to Mrs.James, the present mistress of the establishment, she had heard vague rumors; while only that morning when dusting and airing Richard's room, she had stopped her work a moment to admire the handsome picture which Richard had had painted, from a photograph of Ethie, taken when she was only seventeen.
It was a beautiful, girlish face, and the brown eyes were bright and soft, and full of eagerness and joy; while the rounded cheeks and pouting lips were not much like the pale thin woman who now stood in the marbled hall, claiming to be a relative of the family.

Hannah never dreamed who it was; but, accustomed to treat with respect everything pertaining to the governor, she opened the door of the little reception-room, and asked the lady to go in.
"I'll send you Mrs.Dobson the housekeeper," she said; and Ethie heard her shuffling tread as she disappeared through the hall and down the stairs to the regions where Mrs.Dobson reigned.
Ethelyn was a little afraid of that dignitary; something in the atmosphere of the house made her afraid of everything, inspiring her as it did with the feeling that she had no business there--that she was a trespasser, a spy, whom Mrs.Dobson would be justified in turning from the door.

But Mrs.Dobson meditated no such act.