“Girl!” echoed his wife peevishly. “I would scarcely call her a girl; she has been in every garrison town in----” “Come, come, that will do!” exclaimed the Major rudely. “We all know you don’t like her. What handsome woman ever _is_ appreciated by the old and ugly of her own sex? I only wish I was a young man for her sake,” and he gulped down a bumper of family port. “I’d be sorry to be hanging since she was thirty,” muttered Denis, who generally sided with his mother. “Mrs. Redmond is dreadful,” said Cuckoo, bravely, “she drawls out her words as if they cost money, and she is fearfully stingy and mean, she always comes here at meal-time on purpose.” “Yes, she is a fine old soldier, and knows her way about,” admitted the Major. “She never wants much for the asking, from a plough to a pie dish, and she has a voice that would crack an egg. Eh! what?” “She came here the other day,” continued Cuckoo, volubly; “mother was cooking, and could not see her, but she and Belle marched in, all the same, and said that they would wait for tea. We happened to have nice hot soda cakes, and Mrs. Redmond calmly took off her gloves and poured out tea, and ate three buttered cakes, and pressed them on Belle, just as if she was in her _own_ house, and then said, ‘Cuckoo, as your mother has a headache, she cannot eat soda cakes; you have had as many as are good for you, and it is a pity to let them go downstairs, so I shall carry them off.’ And she actually made me do them up in paper, and took them home in her muff. Did you ever know such a greedy old thing?” “I never knew her match,” growled Denis, in his deep voice. “The idea of making that unfortunate girl drag her about the country in a bath-chair the way she does; she ought to be prosecuted for cruelty to animals. Betty is worth a thousand of Belle, with her airs and her eyes, and her humbug. Betty has no nonsense about her, and is as plucky as the devil.” “And who is Betty?” enquired George. “You might remember her in old Redmond’s time,” replied the Major. “A girl in short frocks, spending her holidays at Noone--a sort of poor relation. Her mother died when she was an infant, and her father was drowned, trying to save another man’s life. She is now a tall slip of a girl, that comes into a room like a blast of wind, and runs mad over the country, with her dogs and Cuckoo.” “She is a beautiful, warm-hearted, young creature,” protested Mrs. Malone, with a tinge of colour in her pale face. “_Beautiful!_ Oh, Lord,” shouted the Major, derisively. “And has two hundred a year of her own,” continued his wife---- “Which Mrs. Redmond saves her the trouble of spending,” supplemented Denis in his deep voice, “and makes her go all the messages, and weed the garden, and draw the bath-chair. She is warranted quiet in single harness, spirited but gentle--fine action, mouth, and manners.” “Betty does not mind,” proclaimed Cuckoo; “she is never happy unless she is busy. George, I am sure you will like Betty.”