The latter, a very little girl, indeed—quite a small lady—gave her tiny hand to Dalton, who looked into her shy eyes earnestly, and then said, with a bright smile—
'How singular that she is not like you!'
'No—she is dark-complexioned,'
'And you are almost blonde, though your eyes are hazel. I presume she resembles her father?'
'She does in many points—in others I hope she never will,' added Mrs. Trelawney, in her heart.
'Is it long since she lost him?' asked Dalton, softly.
'She never knew him.'
'How?'
'Fate took him from me before she was born.'
'Poor child!' said Dalton, caressing the girl's soft and silky hair, while her tiny fingers toyed with a ring he wore; 'she is quite a little beauty, but she could not fail to be so.'