IV

you said Miss Henderson I beg your pardon, she stated encouragingly. She was not in the least impressed by being spoken to. Her swift amused glance was all she could manage without breaking into shouts of laughter. Her laughter-shaken person was the front of a barricade of derision. Miriam repeated her question, fearfully consulting the small sheeny satin dress, with the lace collar, the neat slipper on the fender, the heavy little fringe stopping abruptly at the hollow temples above high cheekbones and slightly hollow cheeks and leading back to a tiny knot at the top of the head. Perhaps she was a lady. Ye see so little of it unless yerra wealthy, she said in curious tonguey tones, standing upright on the hearthrug and flinging back her head with every other word; backing away with a balancing movement from foot to foot. She laughed on her last word and stood shaking with laughter, her elbow on the far corner of the mantelshelf and her foot once more on the fender. Perhaps she was still laughing at some jest of Mr. Mendizabal’s. Arrya fond of London Miss Henderson, she chuckled and went on without waiting for an answer, with rhythmically flinging head⁠—it’s ahl