"Aunt," said Mary Baxendell, drawing me towards this lady, and doubtless considering that she had special vested rights in her governess, "this is Miss Anstey." A tall young man, who was looking out at a window, and whose back was towards us as we entered, started as Mary mentioned my name. Almost before the aunt and I had exchanged salutations, Mary cried, "Cousin Lawrence, let me see your face, please." The young man turned in compliance with this unceremonious request, and in the face thus presented I saw—Mr. Marsden! Which were playing me false? Eyes or ears? I understood how my bewilderment had been caused when Mary continued— "Miss Anstey, this is my cousin, Mr. Lawrence Marsden." I had only heard him called Mr. Marsden at the farm, Mrs. Jennings not being likely to mention his Christian name. He and his friend addressed each other as "Marsden" and "Winn," whilst Mary Baxendell invariably spoke of him as "Cousin Lawrence," and of his mother as "aunt." Mary opened her eyes very wide when she saw Cousin Lawrence's face light up with pleasure and my own flush crimson as we shook hands, and Mr. Marsden said, "Miss Anstey and I have met before, and I am very glad to meet her again." For myself, I hardly knew whether to be glad or sorry. I thought of the stately lady in velvet and diamonds with some trepidation; but when I turned my eyes in her direction, I saw that she was smiling benevolently, and that there was absolutely a gleam of half-suppressed amusement discernible about those fine eyes of hers. There were but the six of us, so Mrs. Marsden paired off with Mr. Baxendell, Lawrence took his aunt, and Mary and I linked arms and went together. I was, however, fated to sit next my acquaintance of the farm, for Mary was placed next her aunt on one side of the table, and I was between Mr. Baxendell and Mr. Marsden. My younger neighbour was very considerate. He made no allusion to our former meeting, and for this I was grateful. Being such a small party, the talk was general, and I soon felt quite at ease. I even lost my dread of Mrs. Marsden, and could hardly believe that this lady, of whom every one seemed so fond, could possibly be the mother of whom the two friends talked on that moonlight night in the porch at Roundtree Farm. That she doted on her Lawrence there could be no doubt, and in my eyes he had never looked so attractive as when paying those little tender attentions to Mrs. Marsden that every mother delights to receive from a stalwart son. We had yet two clear days before Christmas, and, to please Mary, Mrs. Baxendell had left the decorations to be prepared under her superintendence. Of course, my pupil and I worked together, and Mr. Marsden, while pleading want of skill, offered to do his best to assist us. "I am not sure that your best will be good enough, Lawrence," said Mary; "but we will give you a trial."