“I don’t think it will at all! I think it will be great fun! I like things to be lively! Sometimes I wish I lived in River Street. It’s rather dull some days up there!” “Poor child! I expect it is,” said Cyril; “but what I was going to say was that it would probably bring some of the better people into touch with us, and they’ll be sure to take to you, Sheila. The Bensons are nobodies—he’s the Mayor this year, and they have plenty of money, and give themselves airs over it. But if the thing is taken up by the county—as I expect it will be, for Mr. Ransom is a well-born man, and has come with introductions to a good many of the best families—we shall get other volunteers of a different sort, and that will be a good thing for you and Oscar.” “Why for us more than other people?” asked Sheila, whilst Oscar’s face seemed to cloud over a little. “Oh, don’t you see! They will see the difference at once; and I shall see you are introduced. I know these people—most of them—though they don’t visit much in the town, except in quite a perfunctory way. But they are very good to me; and they will be sure to take you up; and then things will be different.” “I’m not sure that Sheila and I wish any distinction made between ourselves and our cousins,” said Oscar a little stiffly; but Cyril laughed in his good-humoured way. “Oh, you needn’t be as straight-laced as all that, Oscar. People can’t help knowing the difference between—what shall we call it?—the real thing and the imitation! There are some really nice people I should like Sheila to know. Their name is Lawrence, and they do call here. They bought or took a place about five miles away some little time ago, and the mater was induced to call. They don’t come often; but most likely the girl would be glad to help in these goings on. Mr. Ransom knows the Lawrences. You would quite like them if you once knew them.” Sheila was interested at once, and asked a good many questions. Her life, though pleasant and easy, was rather monotonous, and, so far, she had made no friends except her cousins, who, though very good-natured and kind, were not particularly congenial to her. So the prospect of a possible girl friend of a different stamp was not without its attractions. “I shall try to bring that off,” said Cyril to himself as the carriage drove off at last. “I often think that May Lawrence would be a very good second string to my bow; for though Effie is an heiress, I sometimes think I should soon be sick to death of her ‘I,’ ‘I,’ ‘I,’ and should chuck up the whole thing in three months, if it ever got as far as an engagement!” And perhaps Cyril never paused to ask himself how large a place in his own vocabulary the “I” took, nor the _ego_ in his scheme of life! (_To be continued._) [Illustration] OLD ENGLISH COTTAGE HOMES; OR, VILLAGE ARCHITECTURE OF BYGONE TIMES. PART VIII.