It was a very novel position in which the grave bachelor Beresford found himself—a girl crying on his hands, with all those people looking on; and still he rather liked it, for there was something very touching in the way those fingers clung to his, and in his confusion he was not quite sure that he did not press them a little, but before he could think what to say or do Grandma Ferguson stood close to him, and as Reinette lifted her head a pair of arms was thrown around her neck, and a voice which her patrician ears detected at once as untrained and uneducated, exclaimed: “My dear Rennet, I am so glad to see my daughter’s girl.” With a motion as swift and graceful as the motions of a kitten, Reinette freed herself from the smothering embrace, and the eyes, in which the tears were still shining, blazed with astonishment and indignation at the liberty taken by this strange woman, whose _tout ensemble_ she took in at a glance, and who said again, “My dear child, I am so sorry for you.” “Madam, I don’t understand you,” Reinette replied, drawing nearer to Mr. Beresford, and holding faster to his hand, as if for protection and safety. Neither did grandma understand, but Mr. Beresford did, and knew that the existence of the Fergusons was wholly unknown to Reinette, who, as if to breathe more freely, untied the blue veil, and taking it from her neck and hat, stood like a hunted creature at bay; while Mrs. Ferguson, nothing abashed, and simply thinking the girl might be a little deaf, raised her voice and said: “I am your grandmarm—your mother’s mother; and this,” turning to her daughter-in-law, “is your A’nt Lyddy Ann—your Uncle Tom’s wife; and this one,” nodding to Anna, who understood the state of things better than her grandmother, and was hot with resentment and anger, “this is your Cousin Anny.” Releasing her hand from Mr. Beresford’s, Reinette, with dexterous rapidity, wrenched off her gloves, as if they, like the veil, were burdensome; and Anna, who hated her own long, slim fingers, with the needle-pricks upon them, saw, with a pang of envy, how soft and small, and white were her cousin’s hands, with the dimples at the joints, and the costly jewels shining on them. Mrs. Lydia, who felt quite overawed in the presence of this foreign girl, did not speak, but courtesied straight up and down; while Anna put on a show of cordiality, and, offering her hand, made a most profound bow, as she said: “I am glad, Cousin Reinette, to make your acquaintance, and you are very welcome to America.” “Thanks,” murmured Reinette in her soft, foreign accent, just as Grandma Ferguson spoke again: “And this is another cousin, Philip Rossiter—your A’nt Mary’s boy.”