"What," she said, with a tender comprehending warmth, "you have been
hearing of some poor lady who is hardly treated, and you cannot endure
to think of it, because you are a man even though you are but seven
years old;" and she bent forward and kissed him with a lovely passion
and her violet eyes bedewed. "Yes, love," she said, "you are a Man. All
Osmondes are when they are born, I think. Indeed, John"--with the
sweetest laughing look at her lord, who stood worshipping her from his
place at the opposite side of the hearth--"I am sure that when you were
seven years old, if you had had a little sword, you would have drawn it
to defend a woman against a giant, though he had been big enough to
have eaten you at one mouthful--and Gerald is like you," proudly.
"Gerald is a Man, too."

"'Tis not fair," cried little Roxholm, passionately, "'tis not fair
that a big gentleman should be so harsh to a poor lady who loves him,
that he should make her cry till the blue goes from her eyes and she is
beautiful no longer, and that he should hate her infants because they
are not boys. And when she tried to please him he made her sob and
swoon away. He should be killed for it--he should be killed."

His father and mother glanced at each other. "Surely," her Grace said,
"he must have heard of the wicked Gloucestershire baronet my Lord
Dunstanwolde told us stories of--Sir Jeoffry."

"Ay, his name was Sir Jeoffry," cried Roxholm, eagerly. "Sir Jeoffry it
was they said."

"Yes," said my lord Duke, "Sir Jeoffry Wildairs, and a rank, heartless
brute he is to be the father of helpless girl children."