The children evidently expected their guest to stay in the hall, so she unfastened her gloves, and drawing them off, held out two white hands to the blaze in quiet enjoyment of the warmth. Then, after a pause, she turned again to the boy and said:
"We have not any one to introduce us to each other, so we must introduce ourselves; I daresay you know my name is Adrienne. Will you tell me your name, and the names of your sisters?"
The boy replied at once:
"I'm Murtagh. That tallest one is Rosamond Mary; Rosie we call her. She's twelve years old."
"No, Murtagh, you always make mistakes; I'm thirteen, very nearly!" exclaimed Rosie, suddenly forgetting her shyness.
"Oh, well! it's all the same. Of course, girls always like to be thought old," he explained, with a funny little chuckle. "Besides, you won't be thirteen till the winter.
"And that little thing is Eleanor Grace," he continued; "Ellie, she's called. She's only three. Winnie's the best of them; but she and Bobbo are out in the garden."
"Out! In this pouring rain?" said Adrienne, looking towards the open door.
"What does that matter?" returned Murtagh. "We don't mind rain. We're little barbarians; you needn't expect to find us like fussy French children."
A merry twinkle woke in Adrienne's eyes. Already she was forgetting the fear of strange bachelor uncles.