My aunt and Conny gave uncle Dick a hearty greeting. I confess I was surprised to see how completely he altered his manners when with the ladies; how courteous, how affable he was, how agreeably he talked. He tried to get up a laugh against me, by telling them how I had mistaken Braham the singer for Abraham the patriarch; but whether it was that I had my aunt’s and cousin’s sympathy, or that they had never heard of Braham, my big uncle’s well-meant attempt missed fire. I gave him a look to let him know that what laugh there was, was on my side. Conny asked very affectionately after Theresa. “She wants to be tamed,” was the answer. “She’s growing desperately wild. Her latest amusement is pistol-shooting, and I give you my word she is the neatest shot that can be imagined. She hangs a ball to a branch, and cuts the thread eight times out of ten, at twenty paces.” “What a very singular pastime for a young lady to indulge in,” exclaimed my aunt. “You should get her married,” said uncle Tom. “I wish you had brought her with you. Here’s a cousin who would be glad to know her.” I tried to catch Conny’s eye, to let her know that this suggestion of her papa’s was entirely gratuitous, but she wouldn’t look at me. It seemed to me, however, that Mrs. Hargrave stared at her husband somewhat more severely than his innocent observation merited. “Well, when are you coming to see us?” said uncle Dick, turning round and facing me. “I shall be proud to make Theresa’s acquaintance,” I answered, the idea suddenly occurring to me that by feigning to take an interest in my unknown relative, I might arouse Conny’s jealousy. “Name your day, my boy.” “We’ll settle that this evening,” interrupted uncle Tom, who then offered to take his brother to his bed-room, and afterwards show him some singular roots he had in his hothouses. So they left the room. Conny followed them, “to wait upon her uncle,” she said, and my aunt and I were left alone. “Theresa,” she observed, “is a handsome, dashing girl, but I don’t think you’ll admire her.” “She seems to have a very manly disposition.” “Oh, very; she’s all day long on horseback.” “She should join a circus.” “I confess,” said my aunt, “I should not care for Conny to possess her accomplishments.” “Oh, Conny is a thorough woman, all sweetness and tenderness.” “And I daresay,” replied the gratified mother, “would be thought by many quite as pretty as her cousin.” “I couldn’t conceive any girl prettier than Conny. I hope I shan’t frighten you,” I continued, carried away by my feelings, “if I tell you that I am in love with her.” “Are you really?” she exclaimed, opening her eyes. “Deeply in love with her, and I told her so last night.” “And what did she say?” inquired my aunt eagerly. “Why, she told me that I had not given her time to fall in love with me.” “But did she seem pleased? did she seem gratified?” “I hardly know. Sometimes I thought she was, and sometimes I thought she wasn’t.”