"I will."

"And you'll keep an eye on her in that big Babylon over there?"

"If she'll let me, sir."

"Yes, indeed, yes; I know she's as unstable as water and as hard to hold
as a puff of wind."

The girl was laughing again. "You might as well call me a tempest and
have done with it, or," with a glance at the younger man, "say a
storm--Glory St---- Oh!"

With a little catch of the breath she arrested the name before it was
uttered by her impetuous tongue, and laughed again to cover her
confusion. The young man smiled faintly and rather painfully, but the old
parson was conscious of nothing.

"Well, and why not? A good name for you too, and you richly deserve
it.--But the Lord is lenient with such natures, John. He never tries them
beyond their strength. She hasn't much leaning to religion, you know."

The girl recalled herself from the busy scene around and broke in again
with a tone of humour and pathos mixed.

"There, call me an infidel at once, grandfather. I know what you mean.
But just to show you that I haven't exactly registered a vow in heaven
never to go to church in London because you've given me such a dose of it
in the Isle of Man, I'll promise to send you a full and particular report
of Mr. Storm's first sermon. Isn't that charming of me?"