“I am, in face,” she answered, with an effort. “But in mind and ways I’m just an awkward, common flahoola of a country girl!” She had spoken the truth; her father could not contradict her. Again he was penetrated with the conviction that, with the refined face and figure of his beloved Joseline, the charming daughter beside him, had the manners and vocabulary of the Irish peasantry. (Unfortunately for Lord Mulgrave, his nature was dominated by the critical faculty.) Would she ever outgrow or live down her plebeian youth, and those twenty-one years of poverty and hardship, which yawned between her and him? “Oh! you will improve,” he said, with a stifled sigh. “I’m afraid I’m too old. However, I’ll try.” “And here,” continued Lord Mulgrave, indicating a patrician individual in splendid uniform, “is your grandfather, the Duc de Hernoncourt.” “Holy Moses! Fancy that my grandfather!” she murmured, staring into the face, “and him a duke, no less!” “Yes; he had the royal blood of France in his veins. So”--looking at her steadily--“have you.” “Is it me?” she repeated, opening her eyes. Then she burst out laughing. “Well, to think of that now! He looks terribly stiff and stand-off, does my grandfather, and as if he did not want to know the likes of me.” “This is the little boudoir,” announced Lord Mulgrave, suddenly opening a door into a small, bright room, where a great wood fire blazed up the chimney. Before it was drawn a sofa, on which a recumbent figure lay extended at full length, displaying a generous view of red silk stockings and buckled shoes, the head buried among soft silk cushions; and when the head turned, it displayed the face of Tito--Tito with a cigarette between her lips, and a yellow paper-bound book in her hand. “Hallo!”--suddenly sitting up. “Good morning, pater.” To Joseline: “So you are down?” “Yes, long ago,” she replied. “I’m sorry you are sick. What ails you?” “I sick? Certainly not! Pray why on earth should you think so?” “Because you are lying stretched.” “Oh, that’s nothing. I’m taking it easy. The Max girls and the men are playing a foursome, and I’m off duty”; and she snuggled down again, and replaced her cigarette. “Duty reminds me that I’m to meet Ross, the head keeper, at eleven-thirty,” said Lord Mulgrave, “so I must be off; and I leave you two girls together. Tito will take you in hand, Joseline, and coach you a bit. I’ll see you at lunch.” And he went out. “Sit down in that comfy chair,” said Tito, extending an authoritative cigarette, “and let us have a talk. I suppose the earl has been doing the grand tour. Tell me what do you think of the pictures? Aren’t they splendid?” “Oh, yes,” she assented, without enthusiasm, “grand.” “The Cavalier on the black horse is worth ten thousand pounds.” “Holy saints! Did father pay all that money?” “No, goosey. The Cavalier is an ancestor--a most valuable one, too. If he were mine, I’d sell him like a shot. They are all your ancestors.”