‘But not Cousin Rotherwood himself, mamma,’ said Mysie, ‘for he said I was quite right, and an honourable little fellow, just like old times. And so I told Ivy. And he said in such a way, ‘Every one knew what his father was.’ So I told him his father was ten thousand times nicer than ever he would be if he lived a hundred years, and I could not bear him if he talked in that wicked, disrespectful way, and Fly kissed me for it, mamma, and said her daddy was worth a hundred of such a prig as he was.’ ‘My dear, I am afraid neither you nor Fly showed your good manners.’ ‘It was only Ivinghoe, mamma, and I’m sure I don’t care what he thinks, if he could talk of his father in that way. Isn’t it what you call metallical--no--ironical?’ ‘Indeed, Mysie, I don’t wonder it made you very angry, and I can’t be sorry you showed your indignation.’ ‘But please, mamma, what ought I to have done about the glass?’ ‘I don’t quite know; I think a very wise little girl might have gone to Cousin Florence’s room and consulted her. It would have been better than making an explosion before so many people. Florence was kind to you, I hope.’ ‘Oh yes, mamma, it was almost like being at home in her room; and she has such a dear little house at the end of the park.’ A good deal more oozed out from Mysie to different auditors at different times. By her account everything was delightful, and yet mamma concluded that all had not absolutely fulfilled the paradisiacal expectation with which her country mouse had viewed Rotherwood from afar. Lady Rotherwood was very kind, and so was the governess, and Cousin Florence especially. Cousin Florence’s house felt just like a bit of home. It really was the dearest little house--and fluffy cat and kittens, and the sweetest love birds. It was perfectly delicious when they drank tea there, but unluckily she was not allowed to go thither without the governess or Louise, as it was all across the park, and a bit of village. And Fly? Oh, Fly was always dear and good and funny; but there was Alberta to be attended to, and other little girls sometimes, and it was not like having her here at home; nor was there any making a row in the galleries, nor playing at anything really jolly, though the great pillars in the hall seemed made for tying cords to make a spider’s web. It was always company, except when Cousin Rotherwood called them into his den for a little fun. But he had gentlemen to entertain most of the time, and the only day that he could have taken them to see the farm and the pheasants, Lady Rotherwood said that Phyllis was a little hoarse and must not get a cold before the ball.