‘One does sometimes in this day of fantastic names. There are Miss Enids and Miss Imogenes.’ ‘I was saying, picture to yourself a very plain little boy, with very common hair, exactly like every other little boy’s, only worse--in long curls upon his wretched shoulders! they made my life a burden to me. Mamma is a most interesting woman--not at all like other people--I am exceptionally happy in having had such a companion for my life--but so long as I was a child there were drawbacks. By degrees things right themselves,’ he added after a brief dramatic pause. ‘I have no longer curls, nor am I sent to call, and we have solved the problem of having two independent rulers in one house.’ There was another pause, which Lady William did not herself wish to break. Perhaps his voice, the atmosphere about him, produced recollections that were too strong for her: or perhaps Leo Swinford by himself did not interest Lady William. It was Mab who blurted forth suddenly, with a juvenile instinct of relieving the tension of the silence, a piece of information. ‘I saw you just now in the village, Mr. Swinford. I wondered if it was you. We don’t see many strangers in the village--at least at this time of the year. I said to myself: unless it is some one from the Hall, I don’t know who it can be.’ ‘Some one from the Hall is very vague, Miss Mab--Queen Mab, if I may say so. I hope you had heard of me, myself, an individual, before that vague conjecture arose.’ ‘No, I can’t say I had,’ said Mab bluntly. ‘Mother said something to-day to Aunt Jane about Leo wanting a wife; but then, you see, I didn’t know who Leo was.’ ‘If that is the only attitude in which I am to be presented to my new world! but I don’t want a wife,’ he added plaintively, addressing himself to the dark corner in which Lady William was seated. ‘However, I am Leo,’ he added, turning to the girl again with such a bow as Mab had never seen before. III Many messages passed between the Rectory and the Cottage the next morning on the subject of the visit to the Hall. How shall we go? Would it be best to get the fly, as there is a prospect of rain? Would it do to go in the pony-carriage, as the clouds were making a lift? Finally, when the sun came out, would it be best to walk? Emmy and Florry Plowden were running to and fro all the morning with notes and messages. Emmy (who was going) was anxious and serious on this great subject. It would be such a pity to get wet. ‘It is true it is nearly the end of the winter, and our dresses are not in their first freshness; but it is so disagreeable to go into a new house feeling mouldy and damp. First impressions are of so much consequence. Don’t you think so, aunt? and Mrs. Swinford is Parisian, and accustomed to everything in the last fashion.’ ‘You might as well go draggled as not,’ said Florence, ‘if that is what you are thinking of: for she will see there is not much of the last fashion about you.’