"Indeed, truly I won't," said Margot. "I thought you'd like to have them, but you evidently don't. Will your house be very nice, Auntie Norah?" "It will be elegant, child. Not a tumble-down place like this." "There never _was_ a place so perfect as Desmondstown," said Margot. "Our little house won't be so big, but it will be sweet and fresh and pure," said Auntie Norah. "I can't bear gawds of any sort." "Can't you, auntie? I should have thought you loved them." "You don't know me a bit, Margot. I always felt you didn't." Margot smiled faintly and was silent. After a very long pause she said slowly: "Thank you very much for showing me the ring; and I hope you'll keep your word about telling granddad to-morrow." "We're going to tell Uncle Fergus," said Norah. "He'll break the news to your grandfather." "Oh, won't you tell him yourself--yourselves, I mean? It sounds so--so----" "So what?" exclaimed Norah. "Sort of cowardly," said Margot. "You have never seen my father in a passion, pushkeen. He'll be angry at a Desmond marrying a Flannigan, and he'll let his anger out and storm and rave, and poor Sam won't be able to bear it. It is best that Fergus should get the brunt of it." "Are you quite--quite sure that is what you mean to do?" asked Margot after a long pause. "Well, perhaps----" "As you are both so finicky I'd best do it for you. I'll talk to Uncle Fergus and get him to tell granddad. I'm going to have a private talk with Uncle Fergus to-night. Shall I tell him about you and the holy, saintly Mr. Samuel to-night, Aunt Norah?" "Well, to be sure, child, you have a heart and a half." "No, I've one heart, but it's big. It can hold you two and your little ring and your _'mendous_ big secret." "I think you are a nice little girl," said Norah. "Well, tell him, but whatever you do, get him not to speak to my father till the morning." Margot promised to obey. Just before dinner that evening she asked Uncle Fergus to walk up and down the big picture-gallery with her. All the best pictures had been sold long ago, but still there was one very precious Romney left, also a couple of Gainsboroughs, not at that great master's best, and several by unknown artists. Little Margot was very fond of creeping up to the picture-gallery and looking at the Romney. It represented a little dark-eyed girl exactly like herself. She did not know the likeness, but everyone else remarked it, and the people of the neighbourhood invariably said: "Oh, do--do look at the little Romney," when Margot and her grandfather passed by.