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On all sides distorted reflections of her image started from his memory: the flower girl in the ragged dress with damp coarse hair and a hoyden's face who had called herself his own girl and begged his handsel, the kitchen-girl in the next house who sang over the clatter of her plates, with the drawl of a country singer, the first bars of BY KILLARNEY'S LAKES AND FELLS, a girl who had laughed gaily to see him stumble when the iron grating in the footpath near Cork Hill had caught the broken sole of his shoe, a girl he had glanced at, attracted by her small ripe mouth, as she passed out of Jacob's biscuit factory, who had cried to him over her shoulder: Do you like what you seen of me, straight hair and curly eyebrows?
"Your future daughter-in-law," says Mrs. Bethune, in a low voice, nodding her beautiful head at Lady Rylton. "Oh, it is detestable! A hoyden a mere hoyden," says Lady Rylton pettishly. "Look at her hair!" And, indeed, it must be confessed that the hoyden's hair is not all it ought to be.
The poor suffering lady, who was extended on an inclined couch below the window, looked down at them, and saw Harry standing at Miss Hoyden's head, with docile Brownie's bridle on his left arm, and Bessie, with the fine end of her slender whip, teasing the dark fuzz of his hair. They made a pretty picture at the gate, laughing and chattering their confidences aloud.
She would have liked to be sitting with her mother in the old-fashioned dining-room at Beechhurst, listening for the doctor's return and the clink of Miss Hoyden's hoofs on the hard frozen road, as they had listened often in the winters long ago.
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