In fact, she had no faith at all in the story being accepted and believed by anybody; to be sure, she herself had been trained, as ladies in shops generally are, to mistrust all mankind, and she could not understand at all the kind of confidence which comes of having the very thing presented to you which you ardently desire.
When they arrived in Chester Square, she found waiting for her a lady, who was certainly not beautiful, but she had kind eyes, which looked eagerly at the strange face, and with an expression of disappointment.
"It can't be the fringe," thought Lotty.
"Cousin Clara," she said softly and sweetly, as her husband had taught her, "I am Iris Deseret, the daughter of your old playfellow, Claude." "Oh, my dear, my dear," cried Clara with enthusiasm, "come to my arms! Welcome home again!" She kissed and embraced her.

Then she held her by both hands, and looked at her face again.
"My dear," she said, "you have been a long time coming.

I had almost given up hoping that Claude had any children.

But you are welcome, after all--very welcome.

You are in your own house, remember, my dear.
This house is yours, and the plate, and furniture, and everything, and I am only your tenant." "Oh!" said Lotty, overwhelmed.