I am going to make a counter-discovery, which, I fear, a
little conflicts with yours. This Mr. Carysbroke is Lord Ilbury, brother
of this Lady Mary; and it is all my fault for not having done my honours
better; but you see what clever match-making little creatures they are.'

'You can't think how flattered I am at being made the subject of a theory,
even a mistaken one, by Miss Ruthyn.'

And so, after our modest fit was over, Milly and I were very merry, like
the rest, and we all grew a great deal more intimate that morning.

I think altogether those were the pleasantest and happiest days of my
life: gay, intelligent, and kindly society at home; charming
excursions--sometimes riding--sometimes by carriage--to distant points of
beauty in the county. Evenings varied with music, reading, and spirited
conversation. Now and then a visitor for a day or two, and constantly some
neighbour from the town, or its dependencies, dropt in. Of these I but
remember tall old Miss Wintletop, most entertaining of rustic old
maids, with her nice lace and thick satin, and her small, kindly round
face--pretty, I dare say, in other days, and now frosty, but kindly--who
told us such delightful old stories of the county in her father's and
grandfather's time; who knew the lineage of every family in it, and could
recount all its duels and elopements; give us illustrative snatches from
old election squibs, and lines from epitaphs, and tell exactly where all
the old-world highway robberies had been committed: how it fared with the
chief delinquents after the assizes; and, above all, where, and of what
sort, the goblins and elves of the county had made themselves seen, from
the phantom post-boy, who every third night crossed Windale Moor, by the
old coach-road, to the fat old ghost, in mulberry velvet, who showed his
great face, crutch, and ruffles, by moonlight, at the bow window of the old
court-house that was taken down in 1803.

You cannot imagine what agreeable evenings we passed in this society,
or how rapidly my good Cousin Milly improved in it. I remember well the
intense suspense in which she and I awaited the answer from Bartram-Haugh
to kind Cousin Monica's application for an extension of our leave of
absence.

It came, and with it a note from Uncle Silas, which was curious, and,
therefore, is printed here:--

'MY DEAR LADY KNOLLYS,--To your kind letter I say yes (that is, for another
week, not a fortnight), with all my heart. I am