pen her lips! Neither is
she the conventional young English lady, or she would not sit on a fence
and look at herself in a pocket looking-glass. At least, I suppose she
would not: how should I know what English girls would do? At any rate,
here goes for addressing her."

All these ideas passed through his mind in the course of the second or
two which elapsed while he courteously raised his hat, and advanced to
pick up the fallen hand-glass. But Nora was too quick for him. She had
slipped off the fence and secured her mirror before he could reach it;
and then, with a look of quite unnecessary scorn and anger, she almost
turned her back upon him, and stood looking at the one angle of the
house which she could see.

The young man brushed his moustache to conceal a smile, and ventured on
the remark that he had been waiting to make.

"I beg your pardon; I trust that I did not startle you."

"Not at all," said Nora, with dignity. But she did not turn round.

"If you are looking for the gate into the grounds," he resumed, with
great considerateness of manner, "you will find it about twenty yards
further to your left. Can I have the pleasure of showing you the way?"

"No, thank you," said Miss Nora, very ungraciously. "I am waiting for my
sister." She felt that some explanation was necessary to account for the
fact that she did not immediately walk away.

"Oh, I beg your pardon," said the young man once more, but this time in
a rather disappointed tone. Then, brightening--"But if your sister has
gone up to our house why won't you come in too?"

"_Your_ house?" said Nora, unceremoniously, and facing him with an air
of fearless incredulity, which amused him immensely. "But _you_ are not
Mr. Brand?"

"My name is Brand," said the young fellow, smiling the sunniest smile in
the world, and again raising his hat, with what Nora now noticed to be a
rather foreign kind of grace: "and if you know it, I feel that it is
honored already."

Nora knitted her brows. "I don't know what you mean," she said,
impatiently, "but you are not Mr. Brand of the Hall, are you?"

"I live at the Hall, certainly, and my name is Brand--Cuthbert Brand, at
your service."

"Oh, I see. Not Wyvis Brand?" said Nora impulsively. "Not the father of
the dear little boy that we found here just now?"

Cuthbert Brand's fair face colored. He looked excessively surprised.

"The father--a little boy? I am afraid," he said, with some
embarrassment of manner