Part 36 (1/2)

”What is it I suspect?” asked she, with an air of innocent curiosity.

”You suspect,” said he, slowly, while he looked intently into her eyes at the time--”you suspect that Sir Gervais means by adopting this child to make some sort of a reparation to Luttrell.”

”A what, Sir?” said she, opening her eyes to almost twice the usual size, while her nostrils dilated with pa.s.sion. ”What did you dare to mean by that word?”

”My dear Miss Courtenay, I am miserable, the most wretched of men, if I have offended you.”

”There's eleven now striking, Sir, and we may as well send the horses back,” cried the postilion, sulkily.

”There, Sir, you hear what he says; pray don't be late on my account.

Good-by. I hope you'll have no more disasters. Good-by.”

For a moment he thought to hasten after her, and try to make his peace; but great interests called him back to town, and, besides, he might in his confusion only make bad worse. It was a matter of much thought, and so, with a deep sigh, he stepped into the chaise and drove away, with a far heavier heart than he had carried from the porch of the cottage.

”I must have called a wrong witness,” muttered he, ”there's no doubt of it; _she_ belonged to 'the other side.'”

CHAPTER XXIII. MALONE IN GOOD COMPANY

[Ill.u.s.tration: 205]

When Georgina returned to the drawing-room, she found her sister seated on a sofa, with Sir Within beside her, and in front of them stood a girl, whose appearance certainly answered ill to the high-flown descriptions Sir Gervais had given them of her beauty.

With the evident intention of making a favourable first impression, her grandfather had dressed her up in some faded relics of Mrs. Luttrel's wardrobe: a blue silk dress, flounced and trimmed, reaching to her feet, while a bonnet of some extinct shape shadowed her face and concealed her hair, and a pair of satin boots, so large that they curved up, Turkish fas.h.i.+on, towards the toes, gave her the look rather of some wandering circus performer, than of a peasant child.

”Je la trouve affreus.e.m.e.nt laide!” said Lady Vyner, as her sister came forward and examined herewith a quiet and steady stare through her eye-gla.s.s.

”She is certainly nothing like the sketch he made, and still less like the description he gave of her,” said Georgina, in French. ”What do you say, Sir Within?”

”There is something--not exactly beauty--about her,” said he, in the same language, ”but something that, cultivated and developed, might possibly be attractive. Her eyes have a strange colour in them: they are grey, but they are of that grey that gets a tinge of amethyst when excited.”

While they thus spoke, the girl had turned from one to the other, listening attentively, and as eagerly watching the expressions of the listeners' faces, to gather what she might of their meaning.

”Your name is Kitty--Kitty O'Hara, I think?” said Lady Vyner. ”A very good name, too, is O'Hara!”

”Yes, my Lady. There is an O'Hara lives at Craig-na-Manna, in his own castle.”

”Are you related to him?” asked Georgina, gravely.

”No, my Lady.”

”Distantly, perhaps, you might be?”

”Perhaps we might; at all events, he never said so!”

”And you think, probably, it was more for him to own the relations.h.i.+p than for you to claim it?”

The girl was silent, and looked thoughtful; and Lady Vyner said, ”I don't think she understood you, Georgy?”