“Certainly not. It was a great indiscretion--that is, it would have been a great indiscretion to have mentioned this to any one less--less----” While he was searching his brain for an epithet, she arose and walked to a window, and Mr. M’Kinlay, rather shocked at his own impetuous frankness, sat thinking over all that he had said. “Come, Sir Within,” cried Vyner, “here’s my friend M’Kinlay, a capital whist player. What say you to a rubber? and Georgina, will you join us?” “Not to-night, Gervais. Laura will take my place.” Lady Vyner acceded good naturedly, with many excuses for all her ignorance of the game, and while Sir Within and Vyner held a little amicable contest for her as a partner, Georgina drew again nigh to where M’Kinlay was standing. “Did he look very old and broken? asked she, in a low but shaken voice. “Terribly broken.” “What age would you guess him to be?” “Fifty-four, or five; perhaps older.” “Absurd!” cried she, peevishly; “he’s not forty.” “I spoke of what he seemed to be; his hair is perfectly white, he stoops considerably, and looks, in fact, the remains of a shattered, broken man, who never at any time was a strong one.” An insolent curl moved her mouth, but she bit her lips, and with an effort said, “Did you see his wife?” “He is a widower; except the little boy that we rescued from the wreck, he has none belonging to him.” “Come along, M’Kinlay, we are waiting for you,” cried Sir Gervais; and the lawyer moved away, while Georgina, with a motion of her finger to her lips, to enjoin secresy, turned and left the room. CHAPTER XXII. SOME WORDS AT PARTING It was as the Vyners sat at breakfast the following morning, that the servant announced the arrival of an old countryman and a little girl, who had just come by the stage. “Oh! may I go, papa, may I go and see her?” cried Ada, eagerly; but Sir Gervais had stooped across to whisper something to his wife, and the governess, deeming the moment favourable to exert her authority, moved away at once with her charge. “The peasant child that we told you of, Sir Within,” said Lady Vyner, “has arrived, and it is a rare piece of fortune you are here, for we shall steal a travelling opinion out of you.” “In what way may I hope to be of use?” “In telling us what you think of her. I mean, of her temper, character, disposition; in short, how you, with that great tact you possess in reading people, interpret her.” “You flatter me much, Lady Vyner; but any skill I may possess in these respects is rather applicable to people in our own rank of life, where conventionalities have a great share; now in hiding, now in disclosing traits of character. As to the simple child of nature, I suspect I shall find myself all at fault.” “But you are a phrenologist, too?” said Sir Gervais. “A believer, certainly, but no accomplished professor of the science.”