'I have not said so,' replied Alison, gently, as she drew up the object from her bosom. It was her father's badge, and the badge of his father before him, as a baronet of Nova Scotia—a gold oval species of medal, bearing in a scutcheon, argent, a St. Andrew's cross, azure, with thereon an inscutcheon of the royal arms of Scotland, with an Imperial crown, and the motto of Henry, Duke of Rothesay, 'Fax mentis honestœ gloria.'
Miss De Jobbyns, who had never seen anything of the kind before, surveyed it with equal wonder and admiration.
'What a funny thing! I would so like to wear it at a ball to-night,' she exclaimed.
'Excuse me,' replied Alison, as she replaced it in her bosom, 'but I cannot lend it.'
'How greedy of you! Then you will sell it, perhaps?'
'Sell it!' repeated Alison, with an inflection of voice that struck even the dull ear of the soap-boiler's daughter. 'Not for worlds!'
'I thought you said that your father was dead.'
'He is dead.'
'Then who is that queer-looking old Scotsman whom Irene and Iseulte see speaking to you sometimes?'
'He was my father's faithful valet, and is now my faithful friend,' replied Alison, with mingled hauteur and emotion.