"This is my daughter, Fanny," said Colonel Brigham, and Mr. Culpepper stopped short in his narrative, and his nephews all turned their eyes to look at her. When she handed the milk-punch the old gentleman declined it, alleging that the state of his health did not permit him to taste any sort of liquor. His nephews were going to follow his example, till he said to them peremptorily—
"Take it—there is nothing the matter with any of you. If there is, say so."
The Mr. Lambleys all rose to receive their tumblers, their uncle having made them a sign to that purpose, and Fanny thought herself treated with great respect, and curtsied, blushingly, to every one as he set down his glass.
"From such a Hebe it is difficult to refuse nectar," said the old gentleman, gallantly.
"A Hebe, indeed!" echoed the nephews.
The uncle frowned at them, and they all looked foolish—even more so than usual.
"Now, Fanny, my dear," said her father, "you may go out, and send in Oliver."
"Mother," said Fanny, as she joined Mrs. Brigham in the pantry, "I like these strangers quite well. They were very polite indeed—but they called me Phebe—I wonder why?"
When Oliver made his appearance, Colonel Brigham introduced him as "a boy he had raised, and who was just the same as a son to him." Mr. Culpepper surveyed Oliver from head to foot, saying, "Upon my word—a fine-looking youth! Straight—athletic—brown and ruddy—dark hair and eyes—some meaning in his face. See, young men—there's a pattern for you."
The four Mr. Lambleys exchanged looks, and tried in vain to conceal their inclination to laugh.