“Yes,” she went on, “on Advent Sunday, 22 years ago, someone left me in a basket on the door step of the Foundling Hospital. That is why I am called Advent. The Christian name, Margaret, was written upon a piece of paper pinned to my baby clothes.”
Fortescue looked very distressed. “What a shame!” he exclaimed.
“Yes, it was rather cruel,” she smiled, “wasn't it?”
“And have you never tried to find out who your parents were?”
“How could I?” she asked. “Where could I begin?” She held out her hands towards him and her eyes sparkled with fun. “What do you think of these, Mr. Fortescue? Do they come from common people?”
With a puzzled smile, he regarded them critically. They were small and dainty, beautifully shaped, with fine tapering fingers, hands that an artist would have loved to paint
