This was a severe shock to Flushington, who had not even known he possessed such a relative anywhere; all he could say just then was, 'Oh, _are_ you?' which he felt at the time was not quite the welcome to give an aunt who had come all the way from the Antipodes. 'Yes, that I am!' she said cheerily, 'but that's not all. I've another surprise for you--the dear girls would insist upon coming up too, to see their grand college cousin; they're just outside. I'll call them in, shall I?' And in another second Flushington's small room was overrun by a horde of female relatives, while he could only look on and gasp. They were pretty girls too, most of them, but that only frightened him more; he did not mind plain women half so much; some of them looked bright and clever as well, and a combination of beauty and intellect always reduced him to a condition of hopeless imbecility. He had never forgotten one occasion on which he had been captured and introduced to a charming young lady from Newnham, and all he could do was to back feebly into a corner, murmuring 'Thank you' repeatedly. He showed himself to scarcely more advantage now, as his aunt proceeded to single out one girl after another. 'We needn't have any formal nonsense between cousins,' she said; 'you know all their names already, I dare say. This is Milly, and that's Jane; and here's Flora, and Kitty, and Margaret, and this is my little Thomasina, keeping close to mamma, as usual.' Poor Flushington ducked blindly in the various directions at the mention of each name, and then collectively to all; he had not sufficient presence of mind to offer them chairs, or cake, or anything, and besides, there was not nearly enough for that multitude. Meanwhile his aunt had spread herself comfortably out in his only arm-chair, and was untying her bonnet-strings, while she beamed at him until he was ready to expire with embarrassment. 'I _do_ think, Frankie dear,' she observed at last, 'that when an old auntie all the way from Australia takes the trouble to come and see you like this, the least--the very _least_ you could do would be to give her one little kiss.' She seemed so hurt by the omission, that Flushington dared not refuse; he staggered up and kissed her somewhere upon her face--after which he did not know which way to look, so terribly afraid was he that the same ceremony might have to be gone through with all the cousins, and he could _not_ have survived that. Happily for him, however, they did not appear to expect it, and he balanced a chair on its hind legs and, resting one knee upon it, waited for them to begin a conversation, for he could not think of a single apposite remark himself. His aunt came to his rescue. 'You don't ask after your Uncle Samuel--have you forgotten all the beetles and things he used to send you?' she said reprovingly. 'No,' said Flushington, to whom Uncle Samuel was another revelation. 'How is the beetle--I mean, how is Uncle Samuel? Quite well, I hope?'