he omelette comes in.
In the second case, I will give you some tea to compose your spirits,
and do all a woman can (which is very little, by-the-bye) to hold my
tongue."

She handed me my cup of tea, laughing gaily. Her light flow of talk,
and her lively familiarity of manner with a total stranger, were
accompanied by an unaffected naturalness and an easy inborn confidence
in herself and her position, which would have secured her the respect
of the most audacious man breathing. While it was impossible to be
formal and reserved in her company, it was more than impossible to take
the faintest vestige of a liberty with her, even in thought. I felt
this instinctively, even while I caught the infection of her own bright
gaiety of spirits--even while I did my best to answer her in her own
frank, lively way.

"Yes, yes," she said, when I had suggested the only explanation I could
offer, to account for my perplexed looks, "I understand. You are such a
perfect stranger in the house, that you are puzzled by my familiar
references to the worthy inhabitants. Natural enough: I ought to have
thought of it before. At any rate, I can set it right now. Suppose I
begin with myself, so as to get done with that part of the subject as
soon as possible? My name is Marian Halcombe; and I am as inaccurate as
women usually are, in calling Mr. Fairlie my uncle, and Miss Fairlie my
sister. My mother was twice married: the first time to Mr. Halcombe,
my father; the second time to Mr. Fairlie, my half-sister's father.
Except that we are both orphans, we are in every respect as unlike each
other as possible. My father was a poor man, and Miss Fairlie's father
was a rich man. I have got nothing, and she has a fortune. I am dark
and ugly, and she is fair and pretty. Everybody thinks me crabbed and
odd (with perfect justice); and everybody thinks her sweet-tempered and
charming (with more justice still). In short, she is an angel; and I
am---- Try some of that marmalade, Mr. Hartright, and finish the
sentence, in the name of female propriety, for yourself. What am I to
tell you about Mr. Fairlie? Upon my honour, I hardly know. He is sure
to send for you after breakfast, and you can study him for yourself. In
the meantime, I may inform you, first, that he is the late Mr.
Fairlie's younger brother; secondly, that he is a single man; and
thirdly, that he is Miss Fairlie's guardian. I won't live without her,
and she can't live without me;