“Were you out last night, my child?” said Captain Despard, taking his glove from Lottie’s hand. “Ah, at the Deanery. I hope my friend the Dean is well, and my Lady Caroline? Lady Caroline was once a very fine woman, Mrs. O’Shaughnessy, though you would not think it. The Courtlands were neighbours of ours in our better days, and knew all our connections; and Lady Caroline has always been kind to Lottie. I do not think it necessary to provide any chaperon for her when she goes there. It is in society that a girl feels the want of a mother; but where Lady Caroline is, Lottie can feel at home.” “Fancy that now,” said Mrs. O’Shaughnessy, “how a body may be deceived! I never knew ye were among old friends, Captain. What a comfort to you--till you find somebody that will be a nice chaperon for your dear girl!” “Yes, Mrs. O’Shaughnessy, that would be a satisfaction; but where could I find one that would satisfy me after Lottie’s dear mother, who was a pearl of a woman? Good-morning to you, my dear lady; I must be going,” he said, kissing the fingers of the mended glove. And he went out of the room humming a tune, which, indeed, was as much a distinction of Captain Despard as the flower in his coat. He was always cheerful, whatever happened. His daughter looked up from her work, following him with her eyes, and Law, shut up in his room next door, stopped reading (which indeed he was very glad to do), and listened to the light carol of the Captain’s favourite air and his jaunty step as he went downstairs. No lurch in that step now, but a happy confidence and cheerful ring upon the pavement when he got outside, keeping time surely not only to the tune, but to the Captain’s genial and virtuous thoughts. Mrs. O’Shaughnessy looked after him without the cloud which was on his children’s faces. She laughed. “Then, sure, it does one’s heart good,” she said, “to see a man as pleased with himself as me friend the Captain. And Lottie, me darlin’, speaking of that, there’s a word I have to say to you. Ye heard what I said and ye heard what he said about a chaperon--though, bless the child, it’s not much use, so far as I can see, that you have for a chaperon----” “No use at all,” cried Lottie, “and don’t say anything about it, please. Papa talks; but nobody pays any attention to him,” she exclaimed, with a flush of shame. “If he’d stop at talking! but Lottie, me dear, when a man at his age gets women in his head, there’s no telling what is to come of it. I wouldn’t vex ye, me dear, but there’s gossip about--that the Captain has thoughts----” “Oh, never mind what gossip there is about! there’s gossip about everything----” “And that’s true, me honey. There’s your own self. They tell me a dozen stories. It’s married ye’re going to be (and that’s natural); and there’s them that uphold it’s not marriage at all, but music, or maybe the stage even, which is what I never would have thought likely----”