"It isn't that," answered Winifred; "only you look like him."
"Look like a gentleman that got angry and slammed a door?" he said in the same jesting tone. "Now, that is too bad of you altogether."
His bright, laughing face and sunny manner mystified the child even more than his words.
"Never mind," he went on; "I forgive you this time, but you must really try to get up a better opinion of me. I must go now, but we shall meet again, and it won't be over the seas either. I am going to hear more about that uncivil dark gentleman who frightened a dear little girl."
"He was cross, too, to the lady," said Winifred, rather defiantly; for she was vexed somewhat by his jesting.
"Well, I am sure he was sorry enough for that afterward," said Roderick, with a sudden clouding of his face—"as we are always sorry for our fits of ill-temper. Remember that, my child."
He waved his hand in farewell, and Winifred stood looking after him.
"I am glad we are going to see him again," she observed; though, with the implicit faith of childhood, she did not ask when or where.
When we had got back to the hotel she talked chiefly of Granny and Niall, of Father Owen, and of her humble friends Barney and Moira; and could scarcely wait for the night to be over and morning to come that we might set out for the scenes of her childhood.