"She called you Guly, this child of mine," said the old man, suddenly breaking a slight pause which had occured in the conversation. "Blanche, my love, when will you ever learn to be polite?"
"Dear grandpapa," returned Blanche, approaching him and stroking down his snow-white locks with her soft hand, "don't call me impolite, only a little too thoughtless and informal, grandpapa."
"Thoughtless and informal then, my dear; but I could wish you not to address young gentlemen by their given names."
"Well, grandpapa, I always say 'Mr.' to Monsieur Wilkins, because he is twice as tall as I, and looks always as if he expected to be mistered; but, grandpapa, just feel of Guly—he is nothing but a boy, only a little taller and a little older than I. Do let us be Blanche and Guly to each other."
There was no withstanding the simple and artless manner with which these words were spoken, and Blanche hung fondly over her grandfather's chair.
The old man smiled as he listened to her, and, turning to the side where Guly sat, he said, in an apologetic manner:
"Blanche's reasoning springs from her heart; she studies no etiquette save that which nature teaches."
"Which will carry such a spirit as hers through the world more safely than any other," said Wilkins, drawing his chair also to the side of his blind friend.
"Still," said Guly, blushing as he spoke, "it may make her heart so rare a gem that too many will covet it."