"My name is——"
"'Norval, from the Grampian hills,'" she quotes, with audacious laughter.
"No,—it is plain Guy Kenmore," he answers, stifling his rising vexation, and laughing with her.
"There, didn't I say so? Pray sit down, Mr. Kenmore," sweeping him a mocking, ridiculous little courtesy. "I hope you will make yourself quite at home at Bay View. I have a great liking for you, Mr. Kenmore."
He takes a chair with readiness, while she paces, a little restlessly, up and down the floor.
"Thank you," he says, languidly. "May I inquire to what circumstances I owe the honor of your regard?"
"You may," shooting him a swift, arch glance. "You're going to take Bert off our hands, and I consider you in the light of my greatest benefactor."
He laughs and colors at the cool speech of this strange girl.
"Indeed?" he says, with a peculiar accent on the word. "Why?"
"Oh, because," she pauses in her restless walk, and looks gravely at him a moment with those dark blue eyes, "because Bert is so wretchedly selfish she won't let me go anywhere until she is married off. Now to-night there was a ball. Papa had said I might go, but when he was called unexpectedly away to the city what did Bert and mamma do but forbid my going! After my dress and gloves and slippers were all bought, too. Wasn't that too bad? And if you were me shouldn't you just love the man that would take Bertha away?"