Sir Harry's brow clouded at the name, and Roland paused.
'You did not see Annot when in London?' said Hester.
'No—I had no time—she lived in a part of South Belgravia, rather out of my wanderings,' replied Roland.
'She is a very attractive girl, gentlemen think.'
'Ah,' was the brief response of Roland, intent more on his breakfast than the attractions of Annot Drummond, who was the only child of Sir Harry's favourite sister, a widow, whose slender circumstances compelled her to reside in a small and dull old-fashioned house of the last century in that locality which lies on the borderland of fashionable London, where the narrow windows, the doorways with huge knockers, quaint half-circular fanlights, and link extinguishers in the railings, tell of the days when George III. was King.
'She complains, Roland, that you did not call on her, in passing through London. Poor Annot,' said Hester.
'Our, or rather your, little Cockney cousin, who no doubt loves her love with an A, because he is 'andsome,' laughed Roland.
'How can you mock Annot?' said Hester; 'she is a very accomplished girl—and lovely too—at least all men say so.'
'And you, cousin Hester?'
'I quite agree with them.' Hester was a sincere admirer of beauty, and—perhaps owing to her own great attractions—was alike noble and frank in admitting those of others. 'Her photo is in the album on that side table.'