“Mr. ---- sir! ---- How can I talk,” cried Dolly, with crimson cheeks, “of my friends to you? I--don’t know you. Why do you want to question any one about them? Who told you I would say nothing that was not good? Does anybody think,” cried Dolly, her eyes flaming, “that I would say either good or bad, for any one, that was not true?” “I cannot answer so many questions at once,” said the little gentleman; “besides, that is not what I want; I want to ask, not to answer. I want to know about my--relations. When I see them, perhaps they may not be very civil to me; they may think me a bore.” “Oh!” cried Dolly, “certainly they will be civil. Alice is too kind for anything else, and Paul--Paul is a gentleman,” she said, raising her head. A softness came over the girl’s eyes. She had no thought of betraying herself; perhaps indeed she was not aware that there was anything to betray; but in spite of herself, a certain subdued and dreamy glow, a kind of haze of golden light, came into her brown eyes at Paul’s name. “Well, that is something,” said the stranger; “you don’t think then that they will take to me much? but because the one is kind, and the other a gentleman----” “That was not what I meant. Am I to pay you compliments to your face?” said Dolly, stopping short and looking suddenly up, half impatient, half amused. “Certainly, if you wish to,” he cried, promptly. “Oh, yes--do not be shy. I should not at all mind a compliment or two; indeed I think I should like them. Do not stand upon ceremony. If you can say seriously that you think me so nice that Alice will like me at once, and your Paul claim me as a brother----” “He is not my Paul,” cried Dolly, with another hot blush. “I do not like such a way of speaking. And, Mr. ----” She paused for his name, but the little man was malicious, and would not give it. He nodded his head two or three times. “Just so,” he said. “That is quite right,” smiling with a mischievous smile. “Mr.--Markham,” Dolly said with a burst. “If that is not your right name, it is not my fault. How could Paul receive you as a brother? You must mean as--an uncle perhaps. Do you know that Paul is only just come of age, and Alice is but six months older than I?” “Ah,” said Mr. Markham Gaveston, stroking his moustache. “I did not think of that,” and he looked at her with an expression half comic, half sad, slightly discomfited there could be no doubt. From this he shook himself free, however, and asked suddenly, “How old may Sir William be?”