perhaps," she said, with a little knitting of her pretty brows, "that
the remittances ceased and uncle left about the same time; but, like
you, I was lucky, and I managed to get a place in the Emporium."
"The Emporium!" repeated Randolph in surprise. It was a popular "magasin
of fashion" in Montgomery Street. To connect this refined girl with its
garish display and vulgar attendants seemed impossible.
"The Emporium," reiterated Miss Avondale simply. "You see, we used
to dress a good deal in Callao and had the Paris fashions, and that
experience was of great service to me. I am now at the head of what they
call the 'mantle department,' if you please, and am looked up to as
an authority." She made him a mischievous bow, which had the effect of
causing a trickle from the umbrella to fall across his budding mustache,
and another down her own straight little nose--a diversion that made
them laugh together, although Randolph secretly felt that the young
girl's quiet heroism was making his own trials appear ridiculous. But
her allusion to Callao and the boy's name had again excited his fancy
and revived his romantic dream of their common benefactor. As soon as
they could get a more perfect shelter and furl the umbrella, he plunged
into the full story of the mysterious portmanteau and its missing owner,
with the strange discovery that he had made of the similarity of the
two handwritings. The young lady listened intently, eagerly, checking
herself with what might have been a half smile at his enthusiasm.
"I remember the banker's letter, certainly," she said, "and Captain
Dornton--that was the name of Bobby's father--asked me to sign my name
in the body of it where HE had also written it with my address. But the
likeness of the handwriting to your slip of paper may be only a fancied
one. Have you shown it to any one," she said quickly--"I mean," she
corrected herself as quickly, "any one who is an expert?"
"Not the two together," said Randolph, explaining how he had shown the
paper to Mr. Revelstoke.
|