Madame Selini introduced her to Sir Oswald Darrell.
"I will leave you," she said, "to discuss your private arrangements."
Madame quitted the room with gliding, subtle grace, and then Sir Oswald, in his courtly fashion, placed a chair for Miss Hastings. He looked at the pale, clear-cut face for a few minutes in silence, as though he were at a loss what to say, and then he commenced suddenly:
"I suppose Madame Selini has told you what I want, Miss Hastings?"
"Yes," was the quiet reply; "your niece has been neglected—you want some one to take the entire superintendence of her."
"Neglected!" exclaimed Sir Oswald. "My dear madame, that is a mild word, which does not express the dreadful reality. I wish to disguise nothing from you, I assure you—she literally horrifies me."
Miss Hastings smiled.
"Neglected!" he repeated—"the girl is a savage—a splendid savage—nothing more nor less."
"Has she not received any kind of training, then, Sir Oswald?"
"Training! My dear madame, can you imagine what a wild vine is—a vine that has never been cultivated or pruned, but allowed to grow wild in all its natural beauty and strength, to cling where it would, to trail on the ground and to twine round forest trees? Such a vine is a fit type of my niece."