“Do I not look so, my sweet Helen? And your mother, too, when have you seen her so well?—when do you remember her walking, as she did to-day, to the top of the great cliff of Dunluce?”
“With no other ill consequence,” said Lady Eleanor, smiling, “than a most acute attack of vanity; for I begin to fancy myself quite young again.”
“Well, Mamma, don't forget we have a visit to pay, some of these days, to Ballintray,—that's the name of the place, I think, Miss Daly resides at.”
“Yes, we really must not neglect it. There was a delicacy in her note of welcome to us here, judging that we might not be prepared for a personal visit, which prepossesses me in her favor. You promised to make our acknowledgments, but I believe you forgot all about it.”
“No, not that,” said the Knight, hesitatingly; “but in the midst of so many things to do and think about, I deferred it from day to day.”
“Shall we go to-morrow, then?” cried Helen, eagerly.
“I think it were better if your father went first, lest the way should prove too long for us. I am so proud of my pedestrianism, Helen, I'll not risk any failure.”
“Be it so,” said the Knight, quietly. “And now of this other matter Bagenal presses so strongly upon us. I feel the greatest repugnance to assume any name but that I have always borne, and, I hope, not disgraced; he says we shall be objects of impertinent curiosity here to the neighborhood.”
“Ruins to dispute the honors of lionship with Dunluce,” said Lady Eleanor, smiling faintly.
“Just so; that might, however, be borne patiently; they will soon leave off talking of us when we give them little matter for speculative gossip. Besides, we are so far away from anything that could be called neighborhood.”