“What are you thinking of?” said Madelon, looking up suddenly.

“I—­I don’t know,” replied Madge, quite taken aback, colouring and stammering; and then, as if she could not help it—­“Oh!  Cousin Madelon, you are so pretty.”

“It is very pretty of you to say so,” said Madelon, laughing and blushing too a little; then holding out both hands she drew Madge towards her, and kissed her on her two cheeks.  “I think you and I will be great friends; will we not?” she said.

“Yes,” says unresponsive Madge shortly, looking down and twisting her fingers in her awkward English fashion.

“I would like you to be fond of me,” continued Madelon, “for I think I shall love you very much; and I like you to call me Madelon—­nobody else calls me so—­except—­except your Uncle Horace.”

“It was Uncle Horace told me to,” cried Madge.  “I asked him what I should call you, and he said he thought Cousin Madelon would do.”

“I think it will do very well,” said Madelon, rising.  “To-morrow will you take me to your garden?  I should like to see your daisies growing.”

After this Madge and Madelon became great friends; and when the former was at her lessons, there was a nurseryfull of younger children to pet and play with, if Madelon felt so disposed.  Sometimes in the morning, when she was sitting alone in the drawing-room, little feet would go scampering along the floor upstairs, shrill little voices would make themselves heard from above, and then Madelon, throwing down book or work, would run up to the big nursery, where, whilst the two elder children were in the school-room with their mother, three round, rosy children kept up a perpetual uproar.  It was quite a new sensation to our lonely Madelon to have these small things to caress, and romp with, and fondle, and she felt that it was a moment of triumph when they had learnt to greet her entrance with a shout of joy.  Down on the floor she would go, and be surrounded in a moment with petitions for a game, a story, a ride.

Graham came up one day in the midst of a most uproarious romp.  “Nurse,” he said, putting his head in at the door, “I do wish you would keep these children quiet—­” and stopped as suddenly as the noise had stopped at his appearance.  Madelon, all blushing and confused, was standing with the youngest boy riding on her back, whilst the little girls, Lina and Kate, were holding on to her skirts behind; they had pulled down all her hair, and it was hanging in loose waves over her shoulders.

“I beg your pardon, Madelon,” said Graham, coming in, and smiling at her confusion.  “I had no idea that you were here, and the instigator of all this uproar; where is nurse?  I shall have to ask her to keep you all in order together.”

“Nurse has gone downstairs to do some ironing,” says Lina.  “Oh, Uncle Horace, we were having such fun with Cousin Madelon.”

“Uncle Horace, will you give me a ride?  You give better rides than Cousin Madelon,” cries Jack, slipping down on to the ground.