As Miss Usher and her brother boldly entered (immediately attended by two geese), Mary Foley started, came back to her own everyday life, and sprang to her feet, greeting Miss Usher with a radiant glance.
“And so,” said her brother to himself, “this was Mary Foley!”
Yes, though not locally credited with “looks,” she was undeniably pretty—nay, even beautiful—with clear-cut, high-bred features, and, for all her peasant’s clothes, an aristocrat to the tips of her little pink fingers.
“Ah, sure then, miss, it’s entirely too kind of you to come and bring me the books.” As she spoke her eyes fell on the parcel, and a wonderful smile—her ladyship’s smile—lit up her whole face.
“This is my brother,” explained Miss Usher, introducing him with a gesture.
“I am glad to see your honour”—dropping a curtsey—“and hope your honour has had good sport.”
“Pretty well, I thank you,” he faltered, for he was gazing at the living image of the late Countess of Mulgrave—supposing the countess to be dressed in a short blue calico gown and coarse white apron.
“And how is your mother to-day?” resumed Miss Usher.
“Oh, indeed, she’s only among the middlings, miss, and she’s keeping her bed. Me aunt is gone to the town for some medicine.”
“And you are minding the house?” suggested Mr. Usher.