“The least he could do! Why, bless my soul, he might have knocked all your front teeth down your throat, or put out one of your eyes--and then he would have had to marry you, eh?” “I am sure he wouldn’t have agreed to that,” she answered gaily. “He might go further, and fare worse,” rejoined her uncle, with a proud and significant glance at his wife, who had now approached the sofa. “Of course, you left your luggage at Tatton, Letty?” “Yes, Aunt Dorothy; I only brought up my dressing-bag. The boy gave me your message.” “That was right. And now, as soon as you feel a little rested, I will take you upstairs. Your quarters are at the top of the house, but large and sunny--with a funny little staircase all to yourself!” “I am sure it is charming, aunt,” rising as she spoke; “it will be delightful to have not only a staircase, but a whole room to myself,” and with a pretty little foreign curtsey to Mrs. Hesketh, the girl collected her wraps and followed Mrs. Fenchurch into the hall. “Well, what do you think of her, eh?” enquired Colonel Fenchurch, retiring to the hearth-rug as to a vantage ground, and sticking his thumbs into the arm-holes of his waistcoat. “She is _lovely_,” replied his companion, after a moment’s deliberation. “When one sees a girl so fresh, so exquisite, and so unconscious, one cannot help thinking of the quotation, ‘What of the lovers in the hidden years?’” “Lovers be hanged!” he exclaimed irritably. “Letty is too young yet--we shall keep her with us as long as we can. She seems as simple as a child, doesn’t she?--and rather shy?” “I fancy she is one of those girls who develop slowly. Her age may be seventeen, but in experience of life probably she is not more than ten or twelve.” “Lots of girls know their way about the world at seventeen, and are one too many for many a man,” declared Colonel Fenchurch; “but I remember that my sister, ten years my junior, was extraordinarily young in her ideas, easily influenced, ready to be ordered about, and as obedient as if she were a kid. She never knew her own mind--or had any fixed opinions--except about Glyn. He made up her mind, and ordered her to run away with him, a handsome, reckless, dare-devil. They went out to India to his regiment, and he was killed within a year up on the frontier, some fool-hardy exploit, or he would be alive now.” “And take his daughter off your hands,” suggested the lady. “Oh, well, I am happy and proud to adopt his daughter--especially since I have none of my own.”