'The more you laugh the better, Milly, for you've got very pretty teeth--very pretty; and if you were my daughter, or if your father would become president of a college of magicians, and give you up to me, I venture to say I would place you very well; and even as it is we must try, my dear.' So down to the drawing-room we went; and Cousin Monica entered, leading us both by the hands. By this time the curtains were closed, and the drawing-room dependent on the pleasant glow of the fire, and the slight provisional illumination usual before dinner. 'Here are my two cousins,' began Lady Knollys: 'this is Miss Ruthyn, of Knowl, whom I take the liberty of calling Maud; and this is Miss Millicent Ruthyn, Silas's daughter, you know, whom I venture to call Milly; and they are very pretty, as you will see, when we get a little more light, and they know it very well themselves.' And as she spoke, a frank-eyed, gentle, prettyish lady, not so tall as I, but with a very kind face, rose up from a book of prints, and, smiling, took our hands. She was by no means young, as I then counted youth--past thirty, I suppose--and with an air that was very quiet, and friendly, and engaging. She had never been a mere fashionable woman plainly; but she had the ease and polish of the best society, and seemed to take a kindly interest both in Milly and me; and Cousin Monica called her Mary, and sometimes Polly. That was all I knew of her for the present. So very pleasantly the time passed by till the dressing-bell rang, and we ran away to our room. 'Did I say anything very bad?' asked poor Milly, standing exactly before me, so soon as our door was shut. 'Nothing, Milly; you are doing admirably.' 'And I do look a great fool, don't I?' she demanded. 'You look extremely pretty, Milly; and not a bit like a fool.' 'I watch everything. I think I'll learn it at last; but it comes a little troublesome at first; and they do talk different from what I used--you were quite right there.' When we returned to the drawing-room, we found the party already assembled, and chatting, evidently with spirit. The village doctor, whose name I forget, a small man, grey, with shrewd grey eyes, sharp and mulberry nose, whose conflagration extended to his rugged cheeks, and touched his chin and forehead, was conversing, no doubt agreeably, with Mary, as Cousin Monica called her guest. Over my shoulder, Milly whispered-- 'Mr. Carysbroke.' And Milly was quite right: that gentleman chatting with Lady Knollys, his elbow resting on the chimney-piece, was, indeed, our acquaintance of the Windmill Wood. He instantly recognised us, and met us with his pleased and intelligent smile. 'I was just trying to describe to Lady Knollys the charming scenery of the Windmill Wood, among which I was so fortunate as to make your acquaintance, Miss Ruthyn. Even in this beautiful county I know of nothing prettier.' Then he sketched it, as it were, with a few light but glowing words.