She laughed still more, and blushed, and held it out with a little tremor. “It is nothing to look at--unless you know about the lines or can tell any one’s fortune. Can you tell any one’s fortune by their hand, Mr. Glen? Mine is as brown as a toad, and not soft and round like Jean’s, nor like papa’s. Oh, there is nothing to look at in my hand. It is so brown. I think shame when I see a lady’s; but then I always lose my gloves, or at least one of them,” said Margaret, half penitent, half laughing. While this dialogue was going on, a change had begun; Sir Ludovic had not stirred when she went to call him, but the subdued sound of the voices, and that sense of being looked at which is so sure a spell against sleep, began at last to affect him; he stirred slightly, then made a little change of position; then he said, drowsily, “Little Peggy! are you there, my little girl?” She sprang away from Rob in a moment, leaving him somehow dazzled, disappointed, and impoverished, he could scarcely tell how. He would have caught at her dress to detain her, but dared not. He tried one whisper, however, very earnest and urgent. “Stay, stay, Miss Margaret! He must not move till I have done. Do not answer, and he will doze again.” She only shook her head in reply, and went to her father’s side lightly and rapidly like a bird. “Yes,” she said, “I am here, papa; but keep still, you are not to move;” and she put her arms round him, standing behind, her pretty hands--still pretty, though they were brown--upon his breast. “Now, quick, quick, Mr. Glen,” she cried, not thinking how she had changed the group and the entire sentiment of the scene. All at once it became dramatic, and utterly beyond Rob, who had no gifts that way. He sat for a few moments vaguely gazing at her, lost in admiration and pleasure; but he shook his head. He could do no more. “Eh, my Peggy? what has happened?” said Sir Ludovic, faintly struggling to wake himself. “Not to--move?--why am I not to move? I am--living, I think, still.” “He is drawing you, papa. Oh, you will spoil it--you will spoil my picture!” cried Margaret. She took away her arms from his shoulders, provoked and ready to cry. “If you only would have stayed still two minutes longer--oh, papa! and if you only would have been quick--quick, Mr. Glen! But now my picture’s all spoiled,” cried the girl. Sir Ludovic came to himself in a moment at the name. “Where is your--Mr. Glen?” he said, and sat upright and looked round. Then Rob rose, very much embarrassed, and came forward slowly, feeling more and more awkward. He felt like a country lout when he was in presence of this fine old gentleman. He did not seem able even to walk as he ought with Sir Ludovic’s eyes upon him, and grew very red and very uncomfortable; he had not so much as a hat to occupy his uncultivated hands, and all his self-possession and powers of speech seemed to go from him. Margaret, too, now that the moment had come, felt a little afraid.