"By the way," said Matilda, in a low, wheedling sort of tone; "talking of rank and all that, don't you think it is odd of Miss Forester to allow a girl like Kate O'Connor to come to Redgarth?"
"Why?" asked Cecil calmly.
"Why? Need you ask? Her origin!"
"What about her origin?" asked Cecil.
"Well," Matilda giggled, "I think she has explained all that herself."
"She has told us of a very beautiful life which she led in Ireland," said Cecil. "I fail to see where her low origin comes in. Hers was the sort of life which Tennyson, if he were now alive, would write a lovely ballad about."
"Oh, if you take it in that spirit, I have not a word to say," replied Matilda. "I knew there were some silly, romantic, sentimental girls at St. Dorothy's, but I did not know that you were one. I am glad it has not been my lot in life to milk cows, and clean dairies, and weed stupid little gardens."
"And read Shakspere, and the Bible, and the book of nature," continued Cecil, in fine scorn. "Such privileges are only accorded to the few."
"I suppose Kate is one of nature's ladies," said Matilda, in a reflective tone. "I suppose you are all going to take her up more heartily than ever, after her extraordinary exhibition the other night?"
"After the very beautiful poem which she recited in our presence," cried Cecil. "Yes; we will all take her up warmly."