I shook my head, bewildered.
“O,” she whispered, “I hope so. I have no little friend at all, and you are so pretty.”
“I have golden hair,” I said. “We can’t all be the same. But yours at least is very curly. What is your name?”
“Patience Grant,” she said. “My mother died in the convent, and I have no father. I am not allowed to play with the village children. What is your name?”
I told her “Diana Please.”
“It is a nice name,” she said. “Did your mother too die in the convent? I am very happy here, but I shall be happier if you come.”
Lady Sophia had entered softly while she spoke.
“Hush, Patty!” said she, with a smile. “And run away now.”
The child went, looking wistfully back. Ah, mignonnette, ma petite à jamais mémorable, toi que j’aime sans discontinuer! How wert thou to me from the first the most attached of little dogs!
Madam drew me into a window, and looked earnestly into my eyes. As she held me, Father Pope entered and stood near, my morose and baleful inquisitor.