“Yes; but I cannot get it into my head. What shall you do?”
“Make the best of it, of course.”
“Fancy a common, low, Irish creature! Oh, I hope she won’t expect me to kiss her, or to be seen about with her!”
“You had better be civil to her, Tito, though I grant you it is hard to have an interloper forced on one. She will make us three women—such an uncomfortable number in the carriage and at the opera; and, of course, she takes precedence of you.”
“Well, anyway, she won’t take any pals from me, or any partners. I should think she cannot come out, or be in the least presentable, until she has learnt how to dress and behave herself. I suppose she has never owned a pocket-handkerchief or a tooth-brush. Can she read and write?”
“Of course. Your father is delighted. Well, it is only natural. But——”
“But we are not. And it’s only natural, eh, mum? There! they are calling me. I must fly. Shall I tell them?”
“No-o; only Lady Maxwelton and the girls privately. She is her aunt! It will ooze out presently. There will be the usual nine days’ wonder. We must put up with that.”
Tito picked up her hat and went over to a glass, settled her ruffled hair with both hands, and pinned on the picturesque pink muslin headgear, and stared at herself with a critical expression.
No—although her eyes were good and her dark hair thick, and curly, her nose, as she said herself, was all wrong—she was not pretty, only fascinating and fetching. She had no fear that the coming companion would supplant her. She felt serenely confident that no one would compare her with an awkward, ignorant country girl, even although she was an earl’s daughter.