“Mr. Sutherland”—­he continued, “has begun to teach me to like creatures.”

“But I thought you were very fond of your wild-beast book, Harry.”

“Oh! yes; but that was only in the book, you know.  I like the stories about them, of course.  But to like pigs, you know, is quite different.  They are so ugly and ill-bred.  I like them though.”

“You seem to have quite gained Harry already,” said Euphra, glancing at Hugh, and looking away as quickly.

“We are very good friends, and shall be, I think,” replied he.

Harry looked at him affectionately, and said to him, not to Euphra, “Oh! yes, that we shall, I am sure.”  Then turning to the lady—­“Do you know, Euphra, he is my big brother?”

“You must mind how you make new relations, though, Harry; for you know that would make him my cousin.”

“Well, you will be a kind cousin to him, won’t you?”

“I will try,” replied Euphra, looking up at Hugh with a naive expression of shyness, and the slightest possible blush.

Hugh began to think her pretty, almost handsome.  His next thought was to wonder how old she was.  But about this he could not at once make up his mind.  She might be four-and-twenty; she might be two-and-thirty.  She had black, lustreless hair, and eyes to match, as far as colour was concerned—­but they could sparkle, and probably flash upon occasion; a low forehead, but very finely developed in the faculties that dwell above the eyes; slender but very dark eyebrows—­just black arched lines in her rather sallow complexion; nose straight, and nothing remarkable—­“an excellent thing in woman,” a mouth indifferent when at rest, but capable of a beautiful laugh.  She was rather tall, and of a pretty enough figure; hands good; feet invisible.  Hugh came to these conclusions rapidly enough, now that his attention was directed to her; for, though naturally unobservant, his perception was very acute as soon as his attention was roused.

“Thank you,” he replied to her pretty speech.  “I shall do my best to deserve it.”

“I hope you will, Mr. Sutherland,” rejoined she, with another arch look.  “Take some wine, Harry.”

She poured out a glass of sherry, and gave it to the boy, who drank it with some eagerness.  Hugh could not approve of this, but thought it too early to interfere.  Turning to Harry, he said: 

“Now, Harry, you have had rather a tiring morning.  I should like you to go and lie down a while.”

“Very well, Mr. Sutherland,” replied Harry, who seemed rather deficient in combativeness, as well as other boyish virtues.  “Shall I lie down in the library?”

“No—­have a change.”

“In my bed-room?”

“No, I think not.  Go to my room, and lie on the couch till I come to you.”

Harry went; and Hugh, partly for the sake of saying something, and partly to justify his treatment of Harry, told Euphra, whose surname he did not yet know, what they had been about all the morning, ending with some remark on the view of the house in front.  She heard the account of their proceedings with apparent indifference, replying only to the remark with which he closed it: