She took up each picture separately, and her brother could see her indifference gradually melting away, a keen and critical look taking its place.
"Who was she?" she at length condescended to ask, though somewhat curtly.
"The daughter of a California gentleman," Sir William answered, quietly.
"A California gentleman!" with a scornful accent upon the last word. "You speak of him as of an equal."
"Certainly," returned the baronet, a smile of amusement slightly curling his lips, "Mr. Abbot was my equal, if not my superior, in point of intellect, and all that goes to make a gentleman, while his daughter is in no wise my inferior."
"How can you make such an absurd statement, William?" demanded his sister, impatiently. "The idea of an American plebeian being the equal of a Heath of Heathdale!"
Sir William laughed outright; then he said:
"Your loyalty to your family does you credit, Miriam, but I imagine, if you should ever visit America—which I trust for your own sake, you will do some time—that you will return much wiser than you went. Your ideas regarding people and things, in that grand republic are very crude and incorrect. But how do you like the face that I have shown you?"
"The face is well enough," Lady Linton was forced to admit.
There is nothing weak about it?"