the banks of the river, or rather rivulet, about a mile from this place.
Mrs. Cameron is a very good, simple-hearted woman. As to Lily, I can
praise her beauty only with safe conscience, for as yet she is a mere
child,--her mind quite unformed."

"Did you ever meet any man, much less any woman, whose mind was formed?"
muttered Kenelm. "I am sure mine is not, and never will be on this
earth."

Mrs. Braefield did not hear this low-voiced observation. She was
looking about for Lily; and perceiving her at last as the children who
surrounded her were dispersing to renew the dance, she took Kenelm's
arm, led him to the young lady, and a formal introduction took place.

Formal as it could be on those sunlit swards, amidst the joy of summer
and the laugh of children. In such scene and such circumstance formality
does not last long. I know not how it was, but in a very few minutes
Kenelm and Lily had ceased to be strangers to each other. They found
themselves seated apart from the rest of the merry-makers, on the bank
shadowed by lime-trees; the man listening with downcast eyes, the girl
with mobile shifting glances now on earth, now on heaven, and talking
freely; gayly,--like the babble of a happy stream, with a silvery dulcet
voice and a sparkle of rippling smiles.

No doubt this is a reversal of the formalities of well-bred life, and
conventional narrating thereof. According to them, no doubt, it is for
the man to talk and the maid to listen; but I state the facts as they
were, honestly. And Lily knew no more of the formalities of drawing-room
life than a skylark fresh from its nest knows of the song-teacher and
the cage. She was still so much of a child. Mrs. Braefield was right:
her mind was still so unformed.

What she did talk about in that first talk between them that could make
the meditative Kenelm listen so mutely, so intently, I know not, at
least I could not jot it down on paper. I fear it was very egotistical,
as the talk of children generally is,--about herself and her aunt, and
her home and her friends; all her friends seemed children like herself,
though younger,--Clemmy the chief of them. Clemmy was the one who had
taken a fancy to Kenelm. And amidst all this ingenuous prattle there
came flashes of a quick intellect, a lively fancy,--nay, even a poetry
of expression or of sentiment. It might be the talk of a child, but
certainly not of a silly child. But as soon as the dance was over,
the little ones again