"Antony, do remember that you are speaking of your own cousins--'two
new specimens of humanity'--they are Hallams at the root."

"I meant no disrespect; but I am naturally a little excited at the
idea of American Hallams--Americans in Hallam-Croft! I only hope the
shades of Hengist and Horsa wont haunt the old rooms out of simple
curiosity. When are they to be here?"

"They will be in Liverpool about the end of May. You have two weeks
to prepare yourself, Antony."

Antony did not reply, but just what kind of a young lady his cousin
Phyllis Fontaine might be he had no idea. People could not in those
days buy their pictures by the dozen, and distribute them, so that
Antony's imagination, in this direction, had the field entirely to
itself. His fancy painted her in many charming forms, and yet he was
never able to invest her with any other distinguishing traits than
those with which he was familiar--the brilliant blonde beauty and
resplendent health of his countrywomen.

Therefore, when the real Phyllis Fontaine met his vision she was a
revelation to him. It was in the afternoon of the last day of May,
and Hallam seemed to have put on a more radiant beauty for the
occasion. The sun was so bright, the park so green, the garden so
sweet and balmy. Heart's-ease were every-where, honeysuckles filled
the air, and in the wood behind, the blackbirds whistled, and the
chaffinches and tomtits kept up a merry, musical chattering. The
squire, with his son and daughter, was waiting at the great open door
of the main entrance for his visitors, and as the carriage stopped he
cried out, cheerily, "Welcome to Hallam!" Then there was a few minutes