“Call it Pretty, Hope—that would do very well.”
“Oh, no, no!” exclaimed Hope; “you might call a lap-dog that, but a fine pony! so merry, and brisk, and lively—oh, no, no!”
“Call it after me,” said Victoria.
“Mischief?” said Hope.
“No, indeed, not Mischief, but Victoria, or Adelaide, or—I have got it—I have got it!—call it Lillie, after our new governess.”
“Is her name Lillie?” asked Hope.
“It’s her first name—her Christian name,” said Adelaide, “and Charlotte says she looks pretty, Hope; but she is so quiet and sad—you know she lost her mamma just a fortnight ago.”
“And has she no home?” said Hope.
“No home? I am sure I don’t know; Charlotte does not say anything about her home; only her mamma is dead, and she is very quiet, and looks pretty.”
There was no more to be got out of Adelaide—she could only repeat her text, and wonder at the questions that sprang out of it.