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.'