"I had my father. The rest of it didn't matter in the face of that."
After a little silence she said—
"M. Ste. Marie!" And the man said—
"What is it, mademoiselle?"
"You spoke the other day," she said, hesitating over her words, "about my aunt, Lady Margaret Craith. I suppose I ought not to ask you more about her, for my father quarrelled with his people very long ago, and he broke with them altogether. But—surely it can do no harm—just for a moment—just a very little! Could you tell me a little about her, M. Ste. Marie? What she is like and—and how she lives—and things like that?"
So Ste. Marie told her all that he could of the old Irishwoman who lived alone in her great house and ruled with a slack Irish hand, a sweet Irish heart, over tenants and dependants. And when he had come to an end the girl drew a little sigh and said—
"Thank you! I am so glad to hear of her. I—wish everything were different, so that——I——think I should love her very much if I might."
"Mademoiselle," said Ste. Marie, "will you promise me something?"
She looked at him with her sombre eyes, and after a little she said—
"I am afraid you must tell me first what it is. I cannot promise blindly." He said—