Mark Brace told the story in his matter-of-fact way, as he ushered the guests in the seldom-used parlor, the pride of Patty's soul.
"It is not half so romantic a story as I thought," yawned Lady Estelle; "but let us see the child since we are here."
Mark withdrew to summon his family.
"Goodness, mamma!" drawled Estelle, "what a stiff, hideous place; framed samplers and horsehair chairs. I should die of it. It is well we are not all born alike."
She lost herself in contemplation of a tall, eight-day clock.
Enter Mark, leading Mattie, and Mrs. Brace carrying the golden-haired mystery.
The child was beautiful as our dreams of angels. One small hand rested on Patty's shoulder, the other hung in a graceful curve; her large, clear, smiling eyes met her august guests, sweet and unabashed. The duchess raised her hands.
"She is perfectly angelic!"
"A true fairy," said the duke, taking the child from Patty, and standing her, as a thing to be admired, on the table.
"What is your name, my dear?"