her laugh, and he said:

'I'll back against that, I get three fingers from your uncle, and
"Morrow, young sir!"'

Down they ran together, laughing; and, sure enough, the identical words
of the respective greetings were employed, which they had to enjoy with
all the discretion they could muster.

Rose went round the table to her little cousin Alec, aged seven, kissed
his reluctant cheek, and sat beside him, announcing a sea appetite and
great capabilities, while Evan silently broke bread. The Count de
Saldar, a diminutive tawny man, just a head and neck above the
tablecloth, sat sipping chocolate and fingering dry toast, which he would
now and then dip in jelly, and suck with placidity, in the intervals of a
curt exchange of French with the wife of the Hon. Melville, a ringleted
English lady, or of Portuguese with the Countess; who likewise sipped
chocolate and fingered dry toast, and was mournfully melodious. The Hon.
Melville, as became a tall islander, carved beef, and ate of it, like a
ruler of men. Beautiful to see was the compassionate sympathy of the
Countess's face when Rose offered her plate for a portion of the world-
subjugating viand, as who should say: 'Sweet child! thou knowest not yet
of sorrows, thou canst ballast thy stomach with beef!' In any other than
an heiress, she would probably have thought: 'This is indeed a disgusting
little animal, and most unfeminine conduct!'

Rose, unconscious of praise or blame, rivalled her uncle in enjoyment of
the fare, and talked of her delight in seeing England again, and anything
that belonged to her native land. Mrs. Melville perceived that it pained
the refugee Countess, and gave her the glance intelligible; but the