“And that is being a gentleman?”
“I think it is; and I wish I was a lady.”
“What was this gentleman’s name?”
“John Hamilton Luttrell—Luttrell of Arran we called him.”
“John Luttrell! And was your aunt his wife, child?” asked Vyner, eagerly; “and are you the cousin of Harry Luttrell?”
“Yes; but he would not let me say so; he is as proud as his father.”
“He need not be ashamed of such a cousin, I think,” said Vyner, as he surveyed her; and the child again raised her fingers to her necklace, as though it was there that lay all her claim to admiration.
“Keep her in talk, George, while I make a sketch of her; she is the very brightest thing I ever saw in nature.”
“Tell me the names of all these mountains,” said Grenfell; “but first of all, your own.”
“My name is Kitty; but I like them to call me Katherine—as the priest does.”