Uncle Silas commented in his own vein upon the effect of Bartram air and
liberty, all he had to offer; and called on me to say how I liked them. And
then he called Milly to him, kissed her tenderly, smiled sadly upon her,
and turning to Cousin Monica, said--
'This is my daughter Milly--oh! she has been presented to you down-stairs,
has she? You have, no doubt, been interested by her. As I told her cousin
Maud, though I am not yet quite a Sir Tunbelly Clumsy, she is a very
finished Miss Hoyden. Are not you, my poor Milly? You owe your distinction,
my dear, to that line of circumvallation which has, ever since your birth,
intercepted all civilisation on its way to Bartram. You are much obliged,
Milly, to everybody who, whether naturally or _un_-naturally, turned a sod
in that invisible, but impenetrable, work. For your accomplishments--rather
singular than fashionable--you are indebted, in part, to your cousin, Lady
Knollys. Is not she, Monica? _Thank_ her, Milly.'
'This is your _truce_, Silas,' said Lady Knollys, with a quiet sharpness.
'I think, Silas Ruthyn, you want to provoke me to speak in a way before
these young creatures which we should all regret.
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