"Oh no," he replied. "I didn't mean to be rude. I couldn't be frightened of you. I was only thinking—I never saw anybody so beautiful as you before," he went on simply, "and it made me think."
The lady flushed a little—a very little.
"I am pleased that you like my face," she said. "I like yours too, and I am sure Fergus will. Will you come and see him now? He is waiting eagerly for you."
She held out her hand again, and Gratian this time put his little brown one into it confidingly. And thus she led him out of the large, cold hall, down a short passage, rendered light and cheerful by a large window—here a door stood open, and a glow of warmth seemed to meet them as they drew near it.
[CHAPTER VIII.]
LITTLE FERGUS
"Old portraits round in order set,
Carved heavy tables, chairs, buffet
Of dark mahogany."
Mrs. Southey
For there was a bright fire burning in the room, which sent red rays flickering and dancing in all directions, lighting up the faded tints of the ancient curtains and covers, and bringing rich crimson shades out of the shining, old dark mahogany furniture. There were flowers too; a bouquet of autumn leaves—bronze and copper and olive—with two or three fragile "last roses" in the middle, on which Gratian's eyes rested with pleasure for a moment, on their way to the small figure—the most interesting object of all.