"It hasn't changed her a particle," Mr. Kirkby put in. "I'll venture to say she hasn't altered one opinion that she ever held."
"I'm not a turn-coat, whatever I am," Mrs. Manning answered back, leading the way into the pleasant living room. "See if Tibbie has tea ready to bring in, Lillian. I want to have a look at this child of Katharine's. Come over here to the light, child, and let me see if there is any Drayton in your looks."
She led Anita to the small-paned window and took her face between two wrinkled, but still delicate, hands. "Can't see a sign of Drayton," she decided at last. "I'm afraid you are all Spanish, except that you are not dark. There is one thing to be thankful for, however, you haven't that long, narrow, phiz of Philip's. Ugh! how I despise that face of his."
"Never mind, Philip, Granny," said Lillian, coming in. "He can wait till we have nothing else to talk about. Anita isn't responsible for him."
"She'd have her hands full if she were," declared the old lady. "But, Anita! What a name! Why didn't you give her some good sound English name, Katharine?"
"She was named for her father's mother, who was called Ana. Anita means little Ana, just as Nancy or Nannie do in our tongue."
"Then I shall call her Nannie. No, Nancy; I like that better."
"I was always called Nancy till less than two years ago," Anita spoke up.
"Then Nancy you shall be to me. I will have none of that lingo in my house, not after Torquemada——"
"Here is the tea, Granny," Lillian interrupted hastily, and for the moment Torquemada was allowed to rest in peace.