'You have no idea what self-denial I have exercised to bring this visit
about. I, who detest writing, have actually written five letters to Silas;
and I don't think I said a single impertinent thing in one of them! What a
wonderful little old thing your butler is! I did not know what to make of
him on the steps. Is he a struldbrug, or a fairy, or only a ghost? Where on
earth did your uncle pick him up? I'm sure he came in on All Hallows E'en,
to answer an incantation--not your future husband, I hope--and he'll vanish
some night into gray smoke, and whisk sadly up the chimney. He's the most
venerable little thing I ever beheld in my life. I leaned back in the
carriage and thought I should absolutely die of laughing. He's gone up to
prepare your uncle for my visit; and I really am very glad, for I'm sure I
shall look as young as Hebe after _him_. But who is this? Who are you, my
dear?'

This was addressed to poor Milly, who stood at the corner of the
chimney-piece, staring with her round eyes and plump cheeks in fear and
wonder upon the strange lady.

'How stupid of me,' I exclaimed. 'Milly, dear, this is your cousin, Lady
Knollys.'

'And so _you_ are Millicent. Well, dear, I am very glad to see you.' And
Cousin Monica was on her feet again in an instant, with Milly's hand very
cordially in hers; and she gave her a kiss upon each cheek, and patted her
head.

Milly, I must mention, was a much more presentable figure than when I first
encountered her. Her dresses were at least a quarter of a yard longer.
Though very rustic, therefore, she was not so barbarously grotesque, by any