"This must be the daughter of his first marriage," I remarked.

"Who will not get on with the young stepmother," finished Mr.
Beresford.

"It is his youngest daughter," corrected Salemina,--"the youngest
daughter of his only wife, and the image of her deceased mother, who
was, in her time, the belle of Dublin."

She might well have been that, we all agreed; for this young beauty
was quite the Irish type, such black hair, grey-blue eyes, and
wonderful lashes, and such a merry, arch, winsome face, that one
loved her on the instant.

She was delighted with the place, and we did not wonder, for the
sunshine, streaming in at the back and side windows, showed us rooms
of noble proportions opening into one another. She admired the
balcony, although we thought it too public to be of any use save for
flowering plants; she was pleased with a huge French mirror over the
marble mantle; she liked the chandeliers, which were in the worst
possible taste; all this we could tell by her expressive gestures;
and she finally seized the old gentleman by the lapels of his coat
and danced him breathlessly from the fireplace to the windows and
back again, while the elder girl clapped her hands and laughed.

"Isn't she lovely?" sighed Francesca, a little covetously, although
she is something of a beauty herself.

"I am sorry that her name is Bridget," said Mr. Beresford.