"Con--found him! Didn't I speak plain? Glyddyr left his boys a slate quarry in Wales for the eldest, and three hundred and fifty for the younger. Parry's the younger. Eh? Nice fortune for a handsome young yachtsman, Claudie. There, go and have your walk, and keep Mary out of mischief.--Well?" This was to a hard, heavy-looking man in working clothes, covered with earth stains and stone dust, who was ushered into the room, and who, ignoring the speaker's presence, stood bowing awkwardly, cap in hand, and changing it from right to left and back. "Quite well, thank ye, miss, and sent her dooty to you." "I'm very glad, Woodham. Remember me kindly to Sarah, and tell her I shall call at the cottage soon." "Yes, yes," said the old man impatiently, following his daughter to the door; "go on now. I have business with Woodham. Don't be so familiar with the work-people," he whispered, as he closed the door after the girl, who ran lightly to the foot of the great carved oak staircase, to call out merrily,-- "Not ready, Mary?" "Yes; coming, coming, coming," and a quaint, mischievous-looking little body came tripping down the stairs, halting slightly as if from some form of lameness, which her activity partly concealed. But no effort or trick of dress could hide the fact that she was deformed, stunted in proportion, and with her head resting closely between her shoulders, which she had a habit of shrugging impatiently when addressed. "Oh, do make haste, Mary, or we shall have no time before lunch." "Yes, I know. You've seen him go by." "For shame, Mary!" said Claude, flushing. "You are always thinking of such things. It is not true." "Yes, it is; and I don't think more of such things than you do. `Oh, 'tis love, 'tis love, 'tis love that makes the world go round,'" she sang, in a singularly sweet, thrilling soprano voice, her pretty but thin keen face lighting up with a malicious smile. But the old song was checked by Claude's hand being clapped sharply over her mouth. "Be quiet, and come along. Papa will hear you." "Well, I daresay he wants to see his darling married. Take away your hand, or I'll bite it." "You're in one of your mocking moods this morning, Mary, and you really make me hate you." "Don't tell fibs," said the deformed girl, throwing her arms lovingly about her companion. "You couldn't hate anybody, you dear old pet; and why shouldn't you have a true, handsome lover?" "Oh, Mary, you are insufferable. You think of nothing else but lovers." "Well, why not, Claudie?" said the girl with a sigh, and a peculiarly pinched look coming about her mouth, as her clear, white forehead wrinkled up, and her fine eyes seemed full of trouble. "One always longs for the unattainable. Nobody will ever love me, so why shouldn't I enjoy seeing somebody love you?" "Mary, darling, I love you dearly." "Yes, pet, like the dearest, sweetest old sister that ever was. You worship poor old humpty dumpty?"