“Are you one of the Underwood Markhams?” the little girl continued. “The people that nurse says would get Markham if we were all to die?”
“They must be very disagreeable people, I think,” said the stranger, with a smile.
“Oh, dreadful! They never come here. Nurse says they were in such a way when we were all born. They thought papa was going to let them have it—as if it were not much more natural that Paul should have it! You are not one of those people, are you, Mr.—Markham? Is that really your name?”
“I am not one of those people, and my name is Gus. What is yours? I want to know what to call you, and your little sister. And don’t you think you had better take me to see the house?”
“Oh,” cried Bell, looking more serious than ever; “but we could not call a gentleman, quite an old gentleman, like you, Gus.”
“Do you think I am an old gentleman?” he said.
“Well, not perhaps such a very old gentleman,” said Bell, hesitating.
Marie, trusting herself to speak for the first time, said in a half-whisper—
“Oh, no—not very old; just about the same as papa.”
The stranger burst into a laugh. This seemed to amuse him more than the humour of the speech justified.