“Old acquaintances—­ah—­indeed !” and little Mrs. Graham nodded and fanned, while her round, florid face grew more florid, and her linen cambric went up to her forehead as if trying to smooth out the scowl which was of too long standing to be smoothed.

“Yes, my dear,” said Mr. Graham, turning toward his wife, “I had entirely forgotten the circumstance, but it seems I saw her in the cars when we took our eastern tour six or seven years ago.  You were quite a little girl then”—­turning to ’Lena.

“Only ten,” was the reply, and Mrs. Graham, ashamed of herself and anxious to make amends, softened considerable toward ’Lena, asking “how long she had lived in Kentucky—­where she used to live—­and where her mother was.”

At this question, Mr. Graham, who was talking with Mr. Livingstone, suddenly stopped.

“My mother is dead,” answered ’Lena.

“And your father?”

“Gone to Canada!” interrupted Durward, who had heard vague rumors of ’Lena’s parentage, and who did not quite like his mother’s being so inquisitive.

Mrs. Graham laughed; she always did at whatever Durward said; while Mr. Graham replied to a remark made by Mr. Livingstone some time before.  Here John Jr. appeared, and after being formally introduced, he seated himself by his cousin, addressing to her some trivial remark, and calling her ’Lena.  It was well for Mr. Graham’s after peace that his wife was just then too much engrossed with Durward to observe the effect which that name produced upon him.

Abruptly rising he turned toward Mr. Livingstone, saying, “You were telling me about a fine species of cactus which you have in your yard—­suppose we go and see it.”

The cactus having been duly examined, praised, and commented upon, Mr. Graham casually remarked, “Your niece is a fine-looking girl—­’Lena, I think your son called her?”

“Yes, or Helena, which was her mother’s name.”

“And her mother was your sister, Helena Livingstone?”

“No, sir, Nichols.  I changed my name to gratify a fancy of my wife,” returned Mr. Livingstone, thinking it better to tell the truth at once.

Again Mr. Graham bent over the cactus, inspecting it minutely, and keeping his face for a long time concealed from his friend, whose thoughts, as was usually the case when his sister was mentioned, were far back in the past.  When at last Mr. Graham lifted his head there were no traces of the stormy emotions which had shaken his very heart-strings, and with a firm, composed step he walked back to the parlor, where he found both Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie just paying their respects to his lady.