“I scarcely liked to come without my uncle’s invitation,” said Harry, “but am very happy to have the opportunity of making his daughter’s acquaintance. I conclude that you are Miss Coppinger.”
“Yes, I am generally so called,” answered the young lady, “but I am your cousin Martha, remember that. You must not be formal with us. My younger sisters may encourage you to be so, but you must not attend to their nonsense.”
“I should like to know something about them,” said Harry, feeling himself quite at home with Martha, evidently a kind and sensible woman, and, as people would say, a bit of a character.
“That’s very sensible in you, Harry,” she answered. “Fortunately they have been all out, and only lately went up to dress, so that I shall have time to tell you about them. Next to me there is Susan—she is like me in most respects, and some people take us for twins. However, she really is two years younger. Then there is Mary. She has only one fault. She is somewhat sentimental, and too fond of poetry—reads Cowper and Crabbe, and Miss Burney’s novels, half-bound volumes in marble covers. She sighs over Evelina, and goes into raptures with Clarissa. She is dark, thin, and slight, not a bit like Susan and me. Then there is Maria Jane. She is fair and addicted to laughing, and very good-natured, and not a bit sentimental. Then there is Estella. Harry, you must take care of her. She is something like Mary, but more lively and more practical too. Mary lives in an idea of her own: Estella carries out her romantic notions. Then there is our youngest sister, Sybella, or baby we always used to call her, but she rather objects to the appellation. You must find out about her yourself. There, now you know us all. You are known to us, so you will find yourself perfectly at home by the time you see us assembled round the dinner-table. As we have no brothers we shall make a great deal of you, and take care that you are not spoilt. Above all things, don’t fall in love. You will become hideous and useless if you do. I don’t at all approve of the passion, except when exhibited in gentlemen of comfortable incomes, nor does papa. I warn you of that, so if you wish to take advantage of such hospitality as we can afford you—and we really desire to be kind—you have been cautioned and must act accordingly.”
Harry cordially thanked Martha for the description of her sisters, and with perfect sincerity promised to follow her advice. It showed him that she, at all events, was not aware of his love for Mabel, and though he thought her a very good-natured woman, he had no intention of making her his confidant on that matter.
Harry had soon the opportunity of discovering the correctness of her description of her sisters. The youngest came in last. There was a considerable amount of beauty among them, so that they passed for a family of pretty girls, but when he saw Sybella, he at once acknowledged that she surpassed them all.
She was a bright little fairy, just entering womanhood. Curiously like Mabel, so he thought: indeed, he would not otherwise have admired her so much.
“I am not surprised that Martha warned me,” he thought to himself. “If it were not for Mabel, I should certainly have fallen in love with that little girl, and yet Mabel is her superior in many ways; I am sure of that.”
They were seated at the dinner-table when these thoughts came into Master Harry’s head. Sybella’s eyes met his. She blushed. Could she have divined his thoughts?
His uncle was very kind. No man indeed appeared to better advantage at his dinner-table than did Mr Coppinger. He at once made Harry feel perfectly at home, and as his cousins addressed him by his Christian name, he soon found himself calling them by theirs in return.