“That’s right, child; never tolerate a sham; better the naked truth always.”

In the distance Daisy, who had passed them ten minutes or so ago, was seen returning with young Hardy and rising to her feet, Miss Betsey said: 

“I must go now, child; good-by.  Try and be good and truthful and real, and stick to your father, and sometime, maybe, you’ll see me again.”

Then she walked swiftly away, and Bessie saw her no more, but for days she talked of the queer old woman on the terrace, who had called her Betsey and who had bade her be good and truthful and real and stick to her father.

Numerous were the questions put to her by her father and mother, relative to the stranger whose identity with the American aunt they scarcely doubted; and Archie was conscious of a bitter pang as he reflected that she had been so near to him and yet had not tried to find him.  He had heard that she was expected in London, and he knew now how strong had been the hope that he should meet her, and that she would do something for him.  He was so tired and so ashamed of the life he led—­now here, now there, now on the first floor, now on the fifth floor back, now plenty now penury and absolute want, according to Daisy’s luck.  For Daisy managed everything and bade him take things easy and trust to her; but he would so much rather have staid quietly at Stoneleigh with but one meal a day and know how that meal was paid for, than to live what to his sense of propriety seemed a not very respectable life.  But he had lost his chance.  The one who might have made living at Stoneleigh possible had ignored him.  She had been where he was, and had not sought him, and his face was very gloomy that evening as he sat in front of the hotel with Bessie in his lap, while Daisy walked on the terrace with Lord Hardy and told him of the old woman on the sands who must have been the American aunt.

One week later, there came a letter from old Anthony, saying he had received a small package by express from London, directed to Miss Betsey McPherson, care of Archibald McPherson.  Should he keep it till his master returned, or should he forward it to Aberystwyth?  Archie replied that he was to forward it, and two days after there came to him a small box, containing a lovely turquois ring, of five stones, unmistakably real, with a good sized pearl in the center, and on the gold band was inscribed, “Little Betsey, 18—­”

That settled the question, of the donor, and Daisy laughed till she cried over what she called the old woman’s spite.

“Nasty old cat,” she said, “why didn’t she send some money instead of this bauble, which is a deal too large for the child?  She can’t wear it in years.  I must say, though, that it is very beautiful, and the old thing did herself justice when she bought it.  Look, Archie, it fits me perfectly!” and she slipped it onto her finger, where it remained; for, as she said, Bessie could not wear it then, and it might as well do somebody some good.