And as she spoke, she went over to the girl, and kissed her on both cheeks, French fashion.
“You are half French, you know,” she explained; “your grandfather was the Duc de Hernoncourt, a French nobleman.”
“My grandfather! Sure I always think of old Joe Foley as that!”
“Yes. You will soon get accustomed to your relations. Mary Foley is gone; we will never see her again; we will forget her, and give her dress and boots and hat and clothes to some poor woman. And now we will go downstairs together, and eat our dinner.”
“Oh, dear me, I’m so frightened, I’m all of a tremble; the legs is giving under me.”
“Your ladyship should say trembling—not all of a tremble; and you need not mention your legs. Come, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“That’s what Mrs. Hogan said; her last words were to hold up my head, and not be afraid of anybody—but sure, talking is easy!”
“You are not afraid of the lift now, are you?”
“No, I like it finely. I love going up and down in it.”