"Then you acknowledge that she is a Dinsmore?" Mildred said playfully.
"Have I ever denied that she was Horace's child?" he answered with a smile.
"I wish he could see her at this moment. I am sure he could not help feeling that he had good reason to be proud of her," Mildred said, approaching a window that looked out upon the lawn, where the little one was wandering about gathering flowers; "see, uncle! is not every movement full of grace?"
"You seem to be quite bewitched with her," he returned, good humoredly, following the direction of her glance. "Children's movements are not apt to be ungraceful, I think.
"This is a fine old mansion," he went on, "and seems to be well furnished throughout. Have you been in the library? No? Then come; we will visit it now. Your heart will rejoice at sight of the well-filled book shelves.
"Ah, I knew it!" watching the expression of keen satisfaction with which she regarded them, when he had taken her there.
They consisted largely of very valuable works in every branch of literature, and Mildred's sole regret was that she would have so little time to examine and enjoy them.
There were also some few fine paintings and beautiful pieces of statuary in the room, and indeed scattered through all the principal rooms of the house; the drawing-room being especially rich in them.
They lingered for some time over these works of art, then went out upon the veranda, presently wandering on from that to the lawn, where they strolled about a little, and finally seated themselves under a beautiful magnolia.