questioning.

"Do you have frogs for breakfast in your home in France, Mademoiselle?"

"Pat, be quiet! That's very rude."

"It is not, Bridgie; it's thirst for information. Or snails,
Mademoiselle? Have you often eaten snails?"

"Never once, nor frogs neither. We have a breakfast much as you have
here. Rolls of bread, and honey, and butter, and coffee--ver' good
coffee!" and there was a regretful tone in Mademoiselle's voice, as she
struggled womanfully to swallow the grounds of chicory which seemed to
constitute the leading feature of coffee as served at Knock Castle. She
did not intend to show her distaste, but the Major exclaimed in eager
agreement with the unspoken criticism.

"And this stuff is not fit to drink! If you will teach my girls to make
coffee as you have it in France, Mademoiselle, you will be doing me a
lifelong favour. I suppose you can cook by instinct, like most of your
countrywomen?"

"I think I can--pretty well, but I do not often get the chance. If Miss
Breegie will let me teach her some of our favourite dishes, it will be a
pleasure to me too! I used to be very happy cooking tempting things for
my father to eat!"

"Hark to that now, Bridgie! There's no better ambition for a young girl
than to wait upon her father and see to his comfort!" cried the Major
solemnly; and a merry laugh rang out from the doorway as Esmeralda came
forward, and standing behind his chair, clasped her arms round his neck,
the while she sent her bright, inquiring glances round the table.

"The whole duty of woman is to wait upon man! and a good long time she
has to wait too, if the man is anything like yourself, me dear! We will
make him an omelette for his lunch this very day, Mademoiselle, if he'll
promise to eat it when he returns an hour past the proper time! I hope
you're well, and had a good sleep after your travels."

Mademoiselle murmured something in reply, but what, she scarcely knew,
so absorbed was she in studying the charming picture made by father and
daughter, the Major with his hair scarcely touched with grey, his
charming smile and stalwart figure, and above him Esmeralda, in all her
wonderful, gipsy-like beauty. Her hair was as dark as Bridgie's was
fair, and stood out from her head in a mass of curls and waves, her
features were perfect in their haughty, aquiline curves, and the bloom
of youth was on her cheeks. With such hair and colouring it would have
been natural to expect bro