"How very stupid of me not to have asked before! Your grandpa in speaking of you always says my granddaughter, and that doesn't tell anything, does it ?" "My name is Sylvia--Sylvia Garrison." "And that's a very nice name," said Mrs.Owen, looking at her fixedly with her fine gray eyes.

"You're the first Sylvia I have ever known.

I'm just plain Sally!" Then she seized Sylvia's hands and drew her close and kissed her.
As Sylvia had brought but one white gown, she decided that the blue serge skirt and linen shirt-waist in which she had traveled would do for luncheon.

She put on a fresh collar and knotted a black scarf under it and went downstairs.
She ran down quickly, to have the meeting with the strange niece over as quickly as possible.

Mrs.Owen was not in sight, and her grandfather had not returned from town; but as Sylvia paused a moment at the door of the spacious high-ceilinged drawing-room she saw a golden head bent over a music rack by the piano.