“For good indeed,” said Clement; “he is a great power there.” “So are his books,” added Geraldine. “Will Harewood sets great store by them. Ah! I hear our young folks--or is that a carriage?” Emilia and Gerald came in simultaneously with Marilda, expanded into a portly matron, as good-humoured as ever, and better-looking than long ago. She was already insisting on Gerald’s coming to a party of hers and bringing his violin, and only interrupted her persuasions to greet and congratulate Clement. Gerald, lying back on a sofa, and looking tired, only replied in a bantering, lazy manner. “Ah! if I asked you to play to the chimney-sweeps,” she said, “you would come fast enough, you idle boy. And you, Annie, do you know you are coming to me for the season when your uncle and aunt go out of town?” “Indeed, Cousin Marilda, thank you, I don’t know it, and I don’t believe it.” “Ah, we’ll see! You haven’t thought of the dresses you two are to have for the Drawing-Room from Worth’s, and Lady Caergwent to present you.” Anna shook her head laughingly, while Gerald muttered-- “Salmon are caught with gay flies.” They closed round the tea-table while Marilda sighed-- “Alda’s daughters are not like herself.” “A different generation,” said Geraldine. “See the Beggars Opera,” said Lance-- “‘I wonder any man alive will ever rear a daughter, For when she’s drest with care and cost, and made all neat and gay, As men should serve a cucumber, she throws herself away.’” “Ah! your time has not come yet, Lance. Your little girls are at a comfortable age.” “There are different ways of throwing oneself away,” said Clement. “Perhaps each generation says it of the next.” “Emmie is not throwing herself away, except her chances,” said Marilda. “If she would only think of poor Ferdy Brown, who is as good a fellow as ever lived!” “Not much chance of that,” said Geraldine. Their eyes all met as each had glanced at the tea-table, where Emilia and Gerald were looking over a report together, but Geraldine shook her head. She was sure that Gerald did not think of his cousins otherwise than as sisters, but she was by no means equally sure of Emilia, to whom he was certainly a hero. Anna had not heard the last of the season. Her mother wrote to her, and also to Geraldine, whom she piteously entreated not to let Anna lose another chance, in the midst of her bloom, when she could get good introductions, and Marilda would do all she could for her.