“Well,” exclaimed Miss Starbrow, after he had shaken hands with Fan and sat down again, “what do you think of my little girl? You have heard all about her, and now you have seen her, and I am waiting to hear your opinion.” “Do you remember the old days at home, Mary, when we were all together? How you do remind me of them now!” “Oh, bother the old days! You know how I hated them, and I--why don't you answer my question, Tom?” “That's just it,” he returned. “It was always the same: you always wanted an answer before the question was out of your mouth. Now, it was quite different with the rest of us.” “Yes, you were a slow lot. Do you remember Jacob?--it always took him fifteen minutes to say yes or no. There's an animal--I forget what it's called--rhinoceros or something--at the Zoo that always reminds me of him; he was so fearfully ponderous.” “Yes, that's all very well, Mary, but I fancy he's more than doubled the fortune the gov'nor left him; so he has been ponderous to some purpose.” “Has he? how? But what do I care! Tom, you'll drive me crazy--why can't you answer a simple question instead of going off into fifty other things?” “Well, Mary, if you'll kindly explain which of all the questions you have asked me during the last minute or two, I'll try my best.” She frowned, made an impatient gesture, then laughed. “Go upstairs and take off your things, Fan,” she said. “Well?” she continued, turning to her brother again, and finding his eyes fixed on her face. “Do you tell me, Mary, that this white girl was born and bred in a London slum, that her drunken mother was killed in a street fight, and that she had no other life but that until you picked her up?” “Yes.” “Good God!” “Can't you say _Mon Dieu_, Tom? Your north-country expressions sound rather shocking to London ears.” He rose, and coming to her side put his arm about her and kissed her cheek very heartily. “You were always a good old girl, Mary,” he said, “and you are one still, in spite of your vagaries.” “Thank you for your very equivocal compliments,” she returned, administering a slight box on his ear. “And now tell me what you think of Fan?” “I'll tell you presently, if you have not guessed already; but I'd like to know first what you are going to do with her.” “I don't know; I can't bother about it just now. There's plenty of time to think of that. Perhaps I'll make a lady's-maid of her, though it doesn't seem quite the right thing to do.” “No, it doesn't. Don't go and spoil what you have done by any such folly as that.” “Do you want me to make a lady of her--or what?” “A lady? Well that is a difficult question to answer; but I have heard that sometimes ladies, like poets, are born, not made. At all events, it would not be right, I fancy, to keep the girl here. It might give rise to disagreeable complications, as you always have a parcel of fellows hanging about you.” Her face darkened with a frown.