She spoke in her very gentlest tone, and held out one of her long white hands and allowed her father to clasp it. Verena was decidedly the best-looking of the eight girls sitting on the grass. She was tall; her complexion was fair; her figure was naturally so good that no amount of untidy dressing could make it look awkward. Her hair was golden and soft. It was less trouble to wind it up in a thick rope and hairpin it at the back of her head than to let it run wild; therefore she was not even untidy. Verena was greatly respected by her sisters, and Briar was rather afraid of her. All the others sat silent now when she asked the old Padre to describe Aunt Sophia.
“My dear,” he answered, “I have not the slightest idea what her appearance is like. My memory of her is that she was fashionable and very conventional.”
“What on earth is ‘conventional’?” whispered Pat.
“Don’t interrupt, Patty,” said Verena, squeezing her father’s hand. “Go on, Paddy; go on, darling of my heart. Tell us some more. Aunt Sophia is fashionable and conventional. We can look out the words in the dictionary afterwards. But you must know what she is like to look at.”
“I don’t, my dears; I cannot remember. It was a good many years ago when she came to visit us.”
“He must be prodded,” said Briar, turning to Renny. “Look at him; he is going to sleep.”
“Excuse me, girls,” said the Squire, half-rising, and then sitting down again as Verena’s young hand pushed him into his seat. “I have just made a most interesting discovery with regard to Virgil—namely, that——”
“Oh, father! we don’t want to know about it,” said Briar. “Now, then, Renny, begin.”
“Her appearance—her appearance!” said Verena gently.
“Whose appearance, dear?”