angerous.

Perhaps she half recognizes this fact, because she smiles at her own
reflection, and--vain little girl that she is--stoops forward and kisses
herself in the happy glass that holds her even for so brief a minute;
after which she summons her maid from her dressing-room beyond.

"Canty," she says, as the "uncle's wife's sister's child" enters, "I am
dressed now; and----"

"Shure, so you are, miss; and lovely ye look, more power to ye."

"Make my room very tidy," says Monica, giving her her directions before
starting. "And, Canty, I shall want my blue dress for dinner. You can
put it out."

"Yes, miss," whereupon Monica prepares to leave the room; but the new
maid stops her.

"If ye please, Miss Monica," she says, hesitating, and applying her
apron to her lips.

"Yes, Canty?"

"I'd be very thankful to ye, miss, if ye wouldn't call me that."

"Call you what?"

"Canty, miss."

"But," astonished, "isn't it your name?"

"No, miss; me name is Bridget."

"But surely Canty is your name, too?"

"Well, it's me father's name, miss, no doubt; but faix I feel just like
a boy when ye call me by it, an' ye wouldn't like me to feel like a boy,
miss, would ye?" says the village beauty casting an anxious glance at
Monica from her dark Irish eyes, and blushing deeply.

"Certainly not," says Monica, laughing a little. "Very well, Bridget; I
shall try to forget you ever had a surname."

"Thank ye, miss," says Bridget, with a sigh of profound relief.

Then Monica runs downstairs, where she finds her aunts in the
drawing-room, dressed in their very best silk gowns, waiting for the
carriage to come round. There is a little delay, which wasted time the
two old ladies spend in endeavoring to drill Terence into shape.
Something of this sort is going on as Monica enters.

"When I introduce you to Madam O'Connor or Lady Rossmoyne, my dear boy,
be sure you make a very low bow. Nothing distinguishes a gentleman so
much from the common herd as the manner of his salute. Now make me a
bow, that I may judge of your style." Thus Miss Priscilla.

"I couldn't make one to order like that," says Terence; yet he sulkily
complies, making a very short, stiff, and uncompromising nod that makes
both aunts lift their hands in dismay.

"Oh, no, my dear!--that won't do _at all_! Most ungraceful, and totally
devoid of the dignity that should inspire it. Now look at me. It should
be something like _this_," making him a reverence that m