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 about getting the tea. She was not long about it, and carried it into the sitting-room.

A lady, a beautiful lady, beautifully dressed, sat in the arm-chair facing the door. But she was talking earnestly to the Honorable John Ruffin; and her eyes did not rest on Pollyooly till she was setting the tea on the table. Then they opened wide in a wild amazement; she sprang to her feet and cried:

"Why—why it's Marion! Whatever is she doing here—in that dress?"

"Oh, no; it isn't Marion. Your partial maternal eyes deceive you. It's Mrs. Bride—my housekeeper. I call her Mrs. Bride, because she is my housekeeper," said the Honorable John Ruffin calmly.

"But—but she's the very image of Marion," said the lady, staring at Pollyooly with eyes still bewildered. "By Jove! You're right; she is like Marion—extraordinarily like," said the Honorable John Ruffin with more animation. "Pollyooly has always reminded me of some one; and I could never make out who it was. Of course it's Marion."

"But how is it she's so like Marion?" said the lady.