“Yes; but you have only answered half of her Ladyship’s question,” said Sir Within. “She asked, ‘Could you love her?’” The girl turned her eyes full on Georgina, and, after a steady stare, she looked in Lady Vyner’s face, and said, “I could love _you_!” The emphasis plainly indicating what she meant. “I think there can be very little mistake there,” said Georgina, in French. “I, at least, have not captivated her at first sight.” “Ma foi, she is more savage than I thought her,” said Sir Within, in the same language. “No,” said she, quickly catching, at the sound of the word, “I am not a savage!” And there was a fierce energy in the way she spoke actually startling. “My dear child,” said he, gently, “I did not call you so.” “And if he had,” interposed Miss Courtenay, “gentlemen are not accustomed to be rebuked by such as you!” The girl’s face grew scarlet; she clenched her hands together, and the joints cracked as the fingers strained and twisted in her grasp. “You have much to learn, Kitty,” said Lady Vyner; “but if you are a good child, gentle and obedient, we will try and teach you.” The child curtseyed her thanks. “Take off that odious bonnet, Georgy, and let us see her better.” The girl stared with amazement at hearing her head-dress so criticised, and followed it with her eyes wistfully. “Yes; she is much better now.” “What splendid hair!” said Sir Within, in French. “You have got pretty hair, he says,” said Georgina. “This is prettier,” said the child, as she lifted the amber beads of her necklace and displayed them proudly. “They are very pretty too, and real amber.” “Amber and gold,” said the girl, proudly. “Now she looks like the picture of her,” said Lady Vyner, in French; “she positively is pretty. The horrid dress disfigured her altogether.” Sir Gervais entered the room hastily at this moment, and whispered a few words in his wife’s ear, concluding aloud: “Let her go to Ada; she is in the garden. You can go this way, Kitty,” said he, opening one of the French windows; “cross over the grass to that little wooden gate yonder, and the path will bring you to the garden. You’ll find a young lady there, who would like to know you.” “May I have my bonnet?” asked she, wistfully. “No; go without it. You’ll be freer!” “I must ask you to let me show you this old man. He has submitted me to a cross-examination so sharp and searching for the last half-hour, that I really want a little rest.” Whatever absurdity the pretension of dress had thrown around the girl, nothing of the same kind was observable in the appearance of the old man, who, in his long coat of bluish grey frieze, and with his snow-white hair falling on his shoulders, stood before them. His air, too, was thoroughly respectful; but neither abashed by the presence in which he found himself, nor, stranger still for an Irish peasant, at all excited to any show, of curiosity by the rich objects about.