After a moment’s pause she began to speak again, in an entirely different tone. “These young ones must come to see me,” said their new friend—“I like the look of them. You are very pretty, my dear, you are quite as good as a picture; but I like your sister just as well as you. Come here, child. Have you had a good education? Are you clever? Nonsense! Why do you blush? People can’t have brains without knowing of it. Are you clever, I say?”
“I don’t think so,” said Agnes, unable to restrain a smile; “but mamma does, and so does Marian.” Here she came to an abrupt conclusion, blushing at herself. Miss Rivers rose up from her seat, and stood before her, looking down into the shy eyes of the young genius with all the penetrating steadiness of her own.
“I like an honest girl,” said the Honourable Anastasia, patting Agnes’s shoulder rather heavily with her strong hand. “Marian—is she called Marian? That’s not an Atheling name. Why didn’t you call her Bride?”
“She is named for me,” said Mrs Atheling with some dignity. And then she added, faltering, “We had a Bridget too; but——”
“Never mind,” said Miss Rivers, lifting her hand quickly—“never mind, you’ll find them again. She’s very pretty—prettier than any one I know about Banburyshire; but for heaven’s sake, child, mind what you’re about, and don’t let any one put nonsense in your head. Your mother could tell you what comes of such folly, and so could I. By the by, children, you are much of an age. Do you know anything of those poor children at the Hall?”
“We know Rachel,” said Agnes eagerly. “We met her at Richmond, and were very fond of her; and I suppose she is coming here.”
“Rachel!” said Miss Rivers, with a little contempt. “I mean the boy. Has Will Atheling seen the boy?”
“My husband met him once when he came here first,” said Mrs Atheling; “and he fancied—fancied—imagined—he was like——”
“My father!” The words were uttered with an earnestness and energy which brought a deep colour over those unyouthful cheeks. “Yes, to be sure—every one says the same. I’d give half my fortune to know the true story of that boy!”
“Rachel says,” interposed Agnes, eagerly taking advantage of anything which could be of service to her friend, “that Louis will not believe that they belong to Lord Winterbourne.”