’ ‘What name would you like, then?’ Her shadowed features turned in his direction. The girl was flushed with excitement, bright-eyed, and braced for a struggle; her aunt had never seen her looking so fine or so pretty. She slipped past the servants, her soft roe-skin shoes unheard on the old stone. Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes. She dissected well, and in a year she found herself chafing at the limitations of the lady B. ’ ‘Poor sort of a mother,’ Martha said with bitterness. IX.
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