"Mr. Oranmore, my daughter Liz; Liz, Mr. Oranmore, son of my old friend. Fact! Hurry up breakfast now—I'm starving."
"I am delighted to welcome the son of papa's friend." said Lizzie, courtesying to the handsome stranger, who returned the salutation with easy gallantry.
Breakfast was brought in, and the trio, together with worthy Mrs. Gower, were soon seated around the table.
"I am afraid, Mr. Oranmore, you will find it very dull here, after being accustomed to the gayety of city life. Our village is the quietest place in the world."
"Dull!" repeated Oranmore. "Did angels ever condescend to dwell on this earth. I should say they had taken up their abode in St. Mark's."
He fixed his large dark eyes on her face, and bowed with a look of such ardent yet respectful admiration as he spoke, that Lizzie blushed "celestial, rosy red," and thought it the prettiest speech she had ever heard.
"Fudge!" grunted the squire.
"Ah, Mr. Oranmore, I see you are a sad flatterer," said the little lady, smilingly, buttering another roll.
"Not so, Miss Erliston. Dare I speak what I think, I should indeed be deemed a flatterer," replied Oranmore, gallantly.
"Bah!" muttered the squire, with a look of intense disgust.