And so “Innocent” it was,—­and by the sprinkling of water and the blessing of the Church the name was finally bestowed and sanctified.  Innocent herself was peacefully glad of her newly-attained spiritual dignity and called Miss Lavinia her “fairy god-mother.”

“Do you mind?” she asked, coaxingly.  “It makes me so happy to feel that you are one of those kind people in a fairy-tale, bringing good fortune and blessing.  I’m sure you are like that!”

Miss Lavinia protested against the sweet flattery, but all the same she was pleased.  She began to take the girl out with her to the houses of various “great” personages—­friends whom she knew well and who made an intimate little social circle of their own—­ “old-fashioned” people certainly, but happily free from the sort of suppressed rowdyism which distinguishes the “nouveaux riches” of the present day,—­people who adhered rigidly to almost obsolete notions of honour and dignity, who lived simply and well within their means, who spoke reverently of things religious and believed in the old adage—­“Manners makyth the man.”  So by degrees, Innocent found herself among a small choice “set” chiefly made up of the fragments of the real “old” aristocracy, to which Miss Leigh herself belonged,—­and, with her own quick intuition and inborn natural grace, she soon became a favourite with them all.  But no one knew the secret of her literary aspirations save Miss Leigh, and when her book was published anonymously and the reading world began to talk of it as something unusual and wonderful, she was more terrified than pleased.  Its success was greater than she had ever dreamed of, and her one idea was to keep up the mystery of its authorship as long as possible, but every day made this more difficult.  And when John Harrington wrote to her, she felt that disclosure was imminent.  She had always kept the visiting-card he had given her when they had travelled to London together, and she knew he belonged to the staff of a great and leading newspaper,—­he was a man not likely to be baffled in any sort of enquiry he might choose to make.  She thought about this as she sat in her quiet little room, working at the last few chapters of her second book which the publishers were eagerly waiting for.  What a magical change had been wrought in her life since she left Briar Farm more than a year, aye,—­nearly eighteen months ago!  For one thing, all fears of financial difficulty were at an end.  Her first book had brought her more money than she had ever had in her life, and the publisher’s offer for her second outweighed her most ambitious desires.  She was independent—­she could earn sufficient, and more than sufficient to keep herself in positive luxury if she chose,—­but for this she had no taste.  Her little rooms in Miss Leigh’s house satisfied all her ideas of rest and comfort, and she stayed on with the kind old lady by choice and affection, helping her in many ways, and submitting to her guidance in every little social matter with