CHAPTER FOURTEENTH.

THREE OF A NAME.

Frances stood thoughtfully looking out of the window. To-morrow would be New Year's Day and also her mother's birthday, and she had not remembered it till this morning. She wondered if she could not in some way get some flowers for her. She had her Christmas money from Uncle Allan in California, and there was nothing her mother enjoyed more than flowers, but who would go with her to get them? Zenobia was busy, and Emma was taking care of the General, who had had an attack of croup.

As she stood there Mark came up the walk and lifted his hat to her. "Perhaps he will take me," she said, and running into the hall she called from the head of the stairs: "Mark, are you very busy? Could you do something for me?"

"I am at your ladyship's command," was the reply.

"Then I'll come down and tell you, for it is a secret."

"Is it? Well, I'm splendid at keeping secrets."

Descending, Frances stated the case, and Mark not only said he would be glad to go with her, but he knew a place where she could get flowers much cheaper than down town.

"I'm so much obliged to you, and now I must ask mother if I can go," Frances said. "I can say you want me to go, can't I? It will be true, won't it?" she stopped halfway up the steps to inquire.

"Nothing could be truer," said Mark, laughing.

It did not take long to get her mother's permission, and in a very few minutes she came flying down to join her escort at the door.

As they walked up the street, talking merrily, more than one passer-by smiled at the pleasant sight, and turned to look again at the tall boy and the bright-eyed little girl.

In these two weeks they had come to be great friends. Frances rather enjoyed his teasing ways, which so alarmed Emma, and had always a saucy reply of some sort ready. She liked to be called your ladyship, and accepted his mock homage with a most regal air.

"What kind of flowers are you going to buy?" Mark asked.

"Violets, I think, because mother is specially fond of them."

"Aren't they rather expensive?"

"I don't know. I have two dollars; won't that be enough?" she asked anxiously.

"Dear me, I had no idea you were so rich! Are you going to spend all that?"

"I don't think that is too much to spend on your mother," she replied with emphasis.

"Certainly not, I wasn't objecting in the least."

"No, it wouldn't do any good," she asserted with dignity.

Mark laughed, and inquired what flowers she liked best herself.

"Great big red roses," was the prompt answer.

"Commend me to a princess for extravagant tastes!" Mark exclaimed, laughing.

The greenhouse was an enchanting place, and after the violets were ordered Frances wandered up and down the fragrant aisles, quite unwilling to leave. Mark at length grew impatient. "I am afraid it is going to storm; we must go," he said.

Sure enough, before they had gone two blocks it began to rain. Mark glanced uneasily at the clouds and then at his companion. Neither of them had thought of bringing an umbrella.

"We can take the car at the next corner unless it begins to pour; in that case we shall have to go in somewhere," he said, taking her hand.

They were hurrying down the avenue when they heard some one call, "Frances! Frances!" and there was Mrs. Marvin just leaving her carriage at the gate. "You must come in and wait till the storm is over," she said, and almost before they knew what had happened they found themselves standing on the porch with her, while the rain swept down in torrents.

"I am grateful to the wind for blowing you in my direction," Mrs. Marvin said, looking at Frances with her intent gaze.

The little girl smiled, and then remembering that Mrs. Marvin did not know Mark, she introduced him.

The lady was very gracious and asked him in to wait till the storm was over, but Mark said he had an engagement at home to meet a friend, and did not mind the rain for himself; so, being provided with an umbrella, he went off, promising to return for Frances when it cleared. This Mrs. Marvin assured him would not be necessary, as she would send her home.

"I am always getting caught in the rain," said Frances, as she went upstairs, her hand clasped in Mrs. Marvin's. "That was the way I happened to get acquainted with the Spectacle Man."

"I am glad something brought you to me; I have been wondering if I should ever see you again."

When her own room was reached the lady sat down and drew the child to her. "Have you forgotten me in all these weeks?" she asked.

"Oh, no, I couldn't do that," was the reply.

"You couldn't? Why not?" and she was drawn closer.

Frances thought this was not the sort of person to be easily forgotten, but she only smiled.

"I'd better not take it off," she said, as Mrs. Marvin began to unfasten her coat. "Mark will be back."

"But you couldn't go out in such a storm, dear; you are going to take lunch with me."

Clearly there was nothing to do but submit, and Frances was not unwilling. Mrs. Marvin looked at her fondly; the slender little figure in the blue sailor suit quite satisfied her fastidious taste. It puzzled her, too, for such daintiness and grace seemed to her altogether incompatible with what she had heard of the child's surroundings. Her sympathies were narrowed by her sensitiveness to anything that fell below her own standard of taste. She had yet to learn that there was a broader culture than hers. No wonder she was bewildered as she listened to Frances' frank chatter.

That this young person was very much of a chatterbox could not be denied. Her father often said it would not take a Philadelphia lawyer to find out all she knew, and on this occasion she had an interested hearer.

"Emma and I think this is a lovely house," she remarked, as they went down to lunch. "I like our flat," she added loyally, "only of course there isn't so much room in it."

This, to her, made the chief difference,—more room, more things. Her own home life had always been harmonious, had expressed grace and refinement in a simpler way, indeed, but as truly as Mrs. Marvin's; and so having always had the emphasis laid upon the best things, she felt no embarrassment, but only a frank enjoyment in this beautiful house.

When lunch was over, Mrs. Marvin led the way to the library, where the wood fire burned, and the little girl smiled down from above the mantle, and a great bunch of American Beauties bent their stately heads over a tall vase. What a combination of delights! Frances hung over the flowers with such pleasure in her eyes that her hostess said: "Do you like roses? You must take those with you when you go."

Mrs. Marvin took out a portfolio of photographs she thought might be interesting, and they went over them together. She knew perfectly how to be entertaining, and Frances enjoyed it very much, but when they came to the last one she said: "Mrs. Marvin, won't you tell me now about that portrait? I like it better than any picture I ever saw."

"Why, certainly, dear; that is my mother when she was a child. It is one of my greatest treasures."

Frances felt disappointed. "Then she is not a little girl now," she said.

"No; the picture was painted many years ago, in London, when my grandfather was Minister to England. My mother was an only child."

"I am an only child, too," Frances remarked, her eyes fixed on the portrait.

"Perhaps you will be interested to know that her name was the same as your own."

"Was it? And your name, too, is Frances, isn't it?"

"Yes, we are three of a name," was Mrs. Marvin's answer.

"I suppose—" Frances hesitated.

"What, dear?"

"I was going to ask if the little girl was alive now."

"No; she lived to grow up and marry, and died while she was still very young and beautiful, leaving three little children."

It was hard to realize that so much had happened to this bright-eyed girl; Frances wrinkled her brow in the effort, and sat very still. After a while she said, "I am glad her name was Frances; she always makes me think of the Girl in the Golden Doorway."

"What is that?" Mrs. Marvin inquired.

"It is one of father's stories," was the answer, and without much urging she told it, and told it well, because she was so fond of it. "It makes me want to see him so," she added with a sigh, at the end.

Mrs. Marvin listened, her face almost hidden by the screen she held. "Did your father ever tell you anything more of his childhood?" she asked.

"Not very much. He went to live somewhere else, I think, and I don't know what became of the picture. There is something about it I don't understand, but some time I know he will tell me. I think a certain person has something to do with it."

"Whom do you mean by a certain person?"

"It is some one who was once a friend of father's, but is not now. That is all I know, except that I heard him tell mother he did not mind our staying here, because a certain person was abroad; but I guess maybe I oughtn't to say anything about it," Frances concluded uneasily.

The conversation was interrupted by a servant who announced a young man to take the little girl home.

"It is Mark," Frances exclaimed, jumping up.

While they had been talking the wind had grown quiet, and the rain had turned to a wet snow. Mark had brought her waterproof and overshoes, but Mrs. Marvin insisted upon ordering the carriage. She held Frances in her arms and kissed her as if she could not bear to let her go.

"I have had a beautiful time, and I am so much obliged for the roses," the child said, when at last she was released.

They drove home in state through the wet streets. "I tell you this is fine!" said Mark; "I mean to be rich some day."

"So do I," replied Frances from behind her roses, and neither of them dreamed what a lonely heart they had left behind them in that beautiful house.