And so she did; and at the same instant a still younger and prettier creature drove up in a hansom, and was out of it almost before the admiring cabby could stop his horse or reach down for his fare. She flew up the stairway and danced into the drawing-room like a young whirlwind; flung open doors, pulled up blinds with a jerk, letting in the sunlight everywhere, and tiptoed to and fro over the dusty floors, holding up her muslin flounces daintily. “This must be the daughter of his first marriage,” I remarked. “Who will not get on with the young stepmother,” finished Mr. Beresford. “It is his youngest daughter,” corrected Salemina,--“the youngest daughter of his only wife, and the image of her deceased mother, who was, in her time, the belle of Dublin.” She might well have been that, we all agreed; for this young beauty was quite the Irish type, such black hair, grey-blue eyes, and wonderful lashes, and such a merry, arch, winsome face, that one loved her on the instant. She was delighted with the place, and we did not wonder, for the sunshine, streaming in at the back and side windows, showed us rooms of noble proportions opening into one another. She admired the balcony, although we thought it too public to be of any use save for flowering plants; she was pleased with a huge French mirror over the marble mantle; she liked the chandeliers, which were in the worst possible taste; all this we could tell by her expressive gestures; and she finally seized the old gentleman by the lapels of his coat and danced him breathlessly from the fireplace to the windows and back again, while the elder girl clapped her hands and laughed. “Isn't she lovely?” sighed Francesca, a little covetously, although she is something of a beauty herself. “I am sorry that her name is Bridget,” said Mr. Beresford. “For shame!” I cried indignantly. “It is Norah, or Veronica, or Geraldine, or Patricia; yes, it is Patricia,--I know it as well as if I had been at the christening.--Dawson, take the tea-things, please; and do you know the name of the gentleman who has bought the house on the opposite side?” “It is Lord Brighton, miss.” (You would never believe it, but we find the name is spelled Brighthelmston.) “He hasn't bought the 'ouse; he has taken it for a week, and is giving a ball there on the Tuesday evening. He has four daughters, miss, and two h'orphan nieces that generally spends the season with 'im. It's the youngest daughter he is bringing out, that lively one you saw cutting about just now. They 'ave no ballroom, I expect, in their town 'ouse, which accounts for their renting one for this occasion. They stopped a month in this 'otel last year, so I have the honour of m'luds acquaintance.” “Lady Brighthelmston is not living, I should judge,” remarked Salemina, in the tone of one who thinks it hardly worth while to ask.