I looked at Conny. How was she dressed? Now you want to puzzle me. Was it black silk? I believe it was. Whatever the material, it was dark enough to set off the transporting whiteness of her throat, and to make the curl that gleamed down her back shine (to use the language of an imitator of Ossian) like the lustrous wake of a meteor upon the midnight sky. What pearly teeth! What a surprisingly dainty complexion! Where did this girl learn to dress her hair? Never did I see hair so becomingly dressed. Is she to be my heroine? _Nous verrons_; but I rather fear, if she is to be my heroine, that hair of hers won’t serve any dramatic exigencies. How _could_ it flow, as all heroines’ gold-coloured hair ought to flow, at an instant’s notice, in a bright cloud over a pillar of a man’s throat, if it is dressed so well and firmly? All we dare hope is that we shall meet with no pillars (columns I think they call them) for Conny’s hair to flow over. But if a column or a pillar of a throat _will_ interfere, in spite of our earnest remonstrances, let us at least trust that the hair-pins will do their duty, and maintain the respectability of passion by holding the pads and puffs and frizettes in their proper places. “I hope,” said I, following her to the window, “that my foreign manners haven’t ruined me in your good opinion?” “I told you last night that cousins are privileged.” “They ought to be.” “Are you going for a drive with us?” “Yes, if I may.” “Oh, mamma ordered the carriage expressly for you.” I turned to mamma, who sat smiling at us, behind our backs, and thanked her. “I thought you would like to see the town, Mr. Charles.” “Pray call me Charlie,” said I, “or your example will give Conny an excuse to treat me with reserve. You see how familiarly I name her. But I got her leave to do so.” “Oh, cousins ought always to be on the very best terms! Aren’t they made of the same flesh and blood?” said my aunt. “Of course they are,” I replied. “Conny,” said her mamma, “will you go and get ready for the drive, so that you can show Mr. ----, I mean Charlie, over the grounds, while I put on my things?” “Yes,” answered Conny, and went out.