Palma suddenly remembered that it was rude to stare in silence at any one, especially at a visitor in one’s own house; so she dropped her eyes and said demurely:
“I am glad you knew Judith Man, Mrs. Randolph Hay, of Haymore, my cousin by marriage.”
“I don’t know her at all. All the same, she is my daughter—my only daughter—and I hope to find her soon, with your assistance, and to make her acquaintance. It is for that purpose that I am here,” said the stranger.
Now Palma stared in right good earnest, without once thinking whether she was rude or not. Moreover, she committed another breach of good manners—she echoed his words:
“Your daughter!” she exclaimed in astonishment and incredulity. “I never did hear of such a thing!”
“Perhaps not,” said the visitor, laughing good-humoredly; “but it is true, nevertheless. And, besides, there are a great many million
“‘More things in heaven and earth’
than you ever did hear of, or ever will hear of, my dear young lady.”
“I beg your pardon, sir; but indeed I was so taken by surprise!” said Palma, apologetically, and with a pretty blush.
“Not at all!” exclaimed the stranger, rather irrelevantly. “Say no more about it; but tell me something of my son and my daughter. You said nothing about my son, yet I have been told that they are both equally and intimately well known to you and to your excellent husband. What are these young people like, madam, if you please?”