“You Guernsey people are very stiff with strangers,” she remarked, as I sat opposite to her, regarding her with that close observation which is permitted to a doctor.

“So the world says,” I answered.  “Of course I am no good judge, for we Guernsey people believe ourselves as perfect as any class of the human family.  Certainly, we pride ourselves on being a little more difficult of approach than the Jersey people.  Strangers are more freely welcome there than here, unless they bring introductions with them.  If you have any introductions, you will find Guernsey as hospitable a spot as any in the world.”

“I have been here a week,” she replied, pouting her full crimson lips, “and have not had a chance of speaking a word, except to strangers like myself who don’t know a soul.”

That, then, was the cause of the little indisposition which had obtained me the honor of attending her.  I indulged myself in a mild sarcasm to that effect, but it was lost upon her.  She gazed at me solemnly with her large black eyes, which shone like beads.

“I am really ill,” she said, “but it has nothing to do with not seeing anybody, though that’s dull.  There’s nothing for me to do but take a bath in the morning, and a drive in the afternoon, and go to bed very early.  Good gracious! it’s enough to drive me mad!”

“Try Jersey,” I suggested.

“No, I’ll not try Jersey,” she said.  “I mean to make my way here.  Don’t you know anybody, doctor, that would take pity on a poor stranger?”

“I am sorry to say no,” I answered.

She frowned at that, and looked disappointed.  I was about to ask her how she knew the Seniors, when she spoke again.

“Do you have many visitors come to Guernsey late in the autumn, as late as October?” she inquired.

“Not many,” I answered; “a few may arrive who intend to winter here.”

“A dear young friend of mine came here last autumn,” she said, “alone, as I am, and I’ve been wondering, ever since I’ve been here, however she would get along among such a set of stiff, formal, stand-offish folks.  She had not money enough for a dash, or that would make a difference, I suppose.”

“Not the least,” I replied, “if your friend came without any introductions.”

“What a dreary winter she’d have!” pursued my patient, with a tone of exultation.  “She was quite young, and as pretty as a picture.  All the young men would know her, I’ll be bound, and you among them, Dr. Martin.  Any woman who isn’t a fright gets stared at enough to be known again.”

Could this woman know any thing of Olivia?  I looked at her more earnestly and critically.  She was not a person I should like Olivia to have any thing to do with.  A coarse, ill-bred, bold woman, whose eyes met mine unabashed, and did not blink under my scrutiny.  Could she be Olivia’s step-mother, who had been the ruin of her life?