The first greeting over, Celia looked curiously at her half-brother. He was not like what she had anticipated, and, except for a slight resemblance about the eyes, he was not like Lady Ingram. He looked older than his years--so much so, that if Celia had not known that he was her junior, she would have supposed him to be her senior by some years. Philip Ingram was of middle height, inclining rather to the higher side of it, slenderly built, thin, lithe, and very active in his movements, with much quickness, physical and mental. He had dark glossy hair, brilliant dark eyes, and a voice not unmusically toned. "Well, Madam!" he said at last, laughingly; "I hope you like me as well as I do you." Celia laughed in her turn, and colored slightly. "I have no doubt that I shall like my new brother very much," she said. "Whom do you think me like?" "That is just what I cannot settle," said Philip, gravely, considering her features. "You are not like Ned, except about the mouth; you have his mouth and chin, but not his eyes and forehead." "Am I like my father?" "Don't recollect him a bit," said Philip. "He died before I was three years old." "Edward is not here, is he?" "No; he is on his travels." "Where has he gone?" "The stars know where! He did not ask me to go with him, and if he had done, my Lady-Mother would have put an extinguisher upon it. I wish he were here; 'tis only endurable when he is." "What is it that you dislike?" "Everything in creation!" said Philip, kicking a footstool across the room. "You speak very widely," replied Celia, laughing, and thinking of Charley Passmore. "I speak very truly, as you will shortly find, Madam, to your cost. Wait until you have been at one of her Ladyship's evening assemblies." "I am not to go until she is better satisfied with my manners," said Celia, simply. Philip whistled. "You will not lose much," he answered. "Don't you like them?" "What is there to like?" asked Philip, dissecting the tassel of the sofa-cushion. "A thousand yards of satin and lace, or the men and women under them, whose hearts are marble and their brains sawdust! Celia Ingram, don't let my mother spoil you! From the little I see of you now, I know you are not one of them. Indeed, I guessed that from what my mother told me. She said you were absolutely without a scrap of fine breeding--which she meant as a censure, and I took as a compliment. I know what your grand ladies are, and what their fine breeding is! And I hope you are a true English girl, with a heart in you, and not one of these finnicking, fussy, fickle, faithless French-women!" Philip let the sofa-cushion go when he had relieved his feelings by this burst of alliteration. "I hope I have a heart, dear Philip," replied Celia. "But can you find no friends anywhere?" "Just one," said Philip, "that is, beside Ned. You see, when Ned is here, he is master; but when he is away, I am not master: her Ladyship is mistress and master too."