"She puts you down so!" cried that lady, making gestures with the paper-knife she had just been employing on the pages of a Mudie book. "If I tell her that something or other--it doesn't matter what--cost at least a great deal of money, she has a way of smiling at you that is positively insulting! She doesn't trouble to argue; she begins to laugh, and raises her eyebrows. I--I always feel as if she had struck me in the face! I know I oughtn't to speak like this; I hadn't meant to do it, especially to a country-woman of hers, as you are." "Am I?" said Elsie, in a puzzled voice. Lady Barnes opened her eyes in astonishment. "I meant"--the explanation was hurried--"I thought--Mrs. Barnes was a South American? Her mother was Spanish, of course; you see it in Daphne." "Yes; in her wonderful eyes," said Mrs. French warmly; "and her grace--isn't she graceful! My husband says she moves like a sea-wave. She has given her eyes to the child." "Ah! and other things too, I'm afraid!" cried Lady Barnes, carried away. "But here is the baby." For the sounds of a childish voice were heard echoing in the domed hall outside. Small feet came pattering, and the drawing-room door was burst open by Roger Barnes, holding a little girl of nearly two and a half by the hand. Lady Barnes composed herself. It is necessary to smile at children, and she endeavoured to satisfy her own sense of it. "Come in, Beatty; come and kiss granny!" And Lady Barnes held out her arms. But the child stood still, surveyed her grandmother with a pair of startling eyes, and then, turning, made a rush for the door. But her father was too quick for her. He closed it with a laugh, and stood with his back to it. The child did not cry, but, with flaming cheeks, she began to beat her father's knees with her small fists. "Go and kiss granny, darling," said Roger, stroking her dark head. Beatty turned again, put both her hands behind her, and stood immovable. "Not kiss granny," she said firmly. "Don't love granny." "Oh, Beatty"--Mrs. French knelt down beside her--"come and be a good little girl, and I'll show you picture-books." "I not Beatty--I Jemima Ann," said the small thin voice. "Not be a dood dirl--do upstairs." She looked at her father again, and then, evidently perceiving that he was not to be moved by force, she changed her tactics. Her delicate, elfish face melted into the sweetest smile; she stood on tiptoe, holding out to him her tiny arms. With a laugh of irrepressible pride and pleasure, Roger stooped to her and lifted her up. She nestled on his shoulder--a small Odalisque, dark, lithe, and tawny, beside her handsome, fair-skinned father. And Roger's manner of holding and caressing her showed the passionate affection with which he regarded her. He again urged her to kiss her grandmother; but the child again shook her head. "Then," said he craftily, "father must kiss granny." And he began to cross the room.