For two hundred years, or more, have I been the home of this beloved old
family, whose generations I have seen in the cradle and in the coffin, and
whose mirth and sorrows and hospitalities I remember. All their friends,
like you, were welcome; and you, like them, will here enjoy the warm
illusions that cheat the sad conditions of mortality; and like them you
will go your way, and others succeed you, till at last I, too, shall yield
to the general law of decay, and disappear.'
By this time poor Milly had grown very nervous; a state which she described
in such very odd phraseology as threw me, in spite of myself--for I
affected an impressive gravity in lecturing her upon her language--into a
hearty fit of laughter.
I must mention, however, that in certain important points Milly was very
essentially reformed. Her dress, though not very fashionable, was no longer
absurd. And I had drilled her into speaking and laughing quietly; and
for the rest I trusted to the indulgence which is always, I think, more
honestly and easily obtained from well-bred than from under-bred people.
Cousin Monica was out when we arrived; but we found that she had arranged a
double-bedded room for me and Milly, greatly to our content; and good Mary
Quince was placed in the dressing-room beside us.
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