own name caught my ears.

I remember that the afternoon had come on wet, and that while I read the
wet branches of the lilac beat against the leaded window. I could see
the flowers through an open pane, and smell their delightful perfume.
There was an apple tree in view, too, with all its blossoms hanging in
pink limpness.

I had forgotten my grandfather and grandmother sitting by the library
fire, within the hooded settle that made the fireside like a little
room; and they had forgotten my presence, if indeed they had known of
it.

"Bawn is the very moral of what I was at her age," my grandmother said.
"Have you noticed, Toby"--my grandfather also was a Theobald--"how tall
she grows? And how she sways in walking like a poplar tree? She has my
complexion before it ran in streaks, and my hair before it faded, and
my eyes before they were dim. She has the carriage of the head which
made them call me the Swan of Dunclody. She will be fifteen come
Michaelmas, and she shall have my pearls for her neck."

I heard her in an excessive surprise. My grandmother had been esteemed a
great beauty in her day and had been sung by the ballad-singers. Was it
possible that my looks could be like hers? I had not thought about them
hitherto any more than my cousin had about his. It was with almost a
sense of relief that I heard my grandfather's reply.

"The child is well enough," he said, "but as for being so like you, that
she is not, nor ever will have your share of beauty. As for your spoilt
roses I do not see them, nor the dimmed eyes, nor the faded hair. You