"Just look at these, papa—did you ever in all your life see anything so beautiful?"
She came to a letter, too; which she hastily tore open and read. It was a brief note, in terms of great respect, written by Sir Keith Macleod, and begging Miss White's acceptance of a small parcel of otter-skins, which he hoped might be made into some article of attire. Moreover, he had asked his cousin's advice on the matter; and she thought there were enough; but if Miss White, on further inquiry, found she would rather have one or two more, he had no doubt that within the next month or so he could obtain these also. It was a very respectful note.
But there was no shyness or timidity about the manner of Miss White when she spread those skins out along the sofa, and again and again took them up to praise their extraordinary glossiness and softness.
"Papa," she exclaimed, "it is a present fit for a prince to make!"
"I dare say you will find them useful."
"And whatever is made of them," said she, with decision, "that I shall keep for myself—it won't be one of my stage properties."
Her spirits rose wonderfully. She kept on chatting to her father about these lovely skins, and the jacket she would have of them. She asked why he was so dull that evening. She protested that she would not take any supper unless he had some too: whereupon he had a biscuit and a glass of claret, which, at all events, compelled him to lay aside his book. And then, when she had finished her supper, she suddenly said,—
"Now, Pappy dear, I am going to tell you a great secret. I am going to change the song in the second act."
"Nonsense!" said he; but he was rather glad to see her come back to the interest of her work.