"And pray which is that, Madam?" grimly inquired he.
"Le Roi Jacques—you call the Pretender," said she calmly, drawing on her glove.
"If you please, Madam," asked Celia, with an effort, "do you know what was my mother's name?"
"White, Black—some color—I know not whether Red, Green, or Blue. She was a nobody—a mere nobody," replied her successor, dismissing Celia's insignificant mother with a graceful wave of her hands.
"Have I any brothers or sisters, Madam?"
"Sisters! no. Two brothers—one son of your mother, and one of mine."
"They live with you, Madam?"
"My son Philip does," said the Baronet's widow. "Your brother—Sir Edward now—is away on his travels, the saints know where. But he talked to me much about you before he went, and Philip teased me about you—so I came."
"Celia!" said the Squire, sternly, "this woman is an alien, a Tory, and a Papist. Will you still go?"
"Ought I not, Father?" she asked, in a low tone.