that the walk might be taken in the cool of the evening. Reading aloud, drawing, and sensible plain needlework were the avocations till it was time to learn the morrow’s lessons. Phœbe being beyond this latter work, drew on, and in the intervals of helping Maria with her geography, had time to prepare such a bright face as might make Robert think lightly of her disappointment, and not reckon it as another act of tyranny.
When he opened the door, however, there was that in his looks which made her spirits leap up like an elastic spring; and his ‘Well, Phœbe!’ was almost triumphant.
‘Is it—am I—’ was all she could say.
‘Has no one thought it worth while to tell you?’
‘Don’t you know,’ interposed Bertha, ‘you on the other side the red baize door might be all married, or dead and buried, for aught we should hear. But is Phœbe to go?’
‘I believe so.’
‘Are you sure?’ asked Phœbe, afraid yet to hope.
‘Yes. My father heard the invitation, and said that you were a good girl, and deserved a holiday.’
Commendation from that quarter was so rare, that excess of gladness made Phœbe cast down her eyes and colour intensely, a little oppressed by the victory over her governess. But Miss Fennimore spoke warmly. ‘He cannot think her more deserving than I do. I am rejoiced not to have been consulted, for I could hardly have borne to inflict such a mortification on her, though these interruptions are contrary to my views. As it is, Phœbe, my dear, I wish you joy.’
‘Thank you,’ Phœbe managed to say, while the happy tears fairly started. In that chilly land, the least approach to tenderness was like the gleam in which the hardy woodbine leaflets unfold to sun themselves.
Thankful for small mercies, thought Robert, looking at her with fond pity; but at least the dear child will have one fortnight of a more genial atmosphere, and soon, maybe, I shall transplant her to be Lucilla’s darling as well as mine, free from task-work, and doing the labours of love for which she is made!
He was quite in spirits, and able to reply in kind to the freaks and jokes of his little sister, as she started, spinning round him like a humming-top, and singing—
Will you go to the wood, Robin a Bobbin?
giving safe vent to an ebullition of spirits that must last her a good while, poor little maiden!
Phœbe took a sober walk with Miss Fennimore, receiving advice on methodically journalizing what she might see, and on the scheme of employments which might prevent her visit from being waste of time. The others would have resented the interference with the holiday; but Phœbe, though a little sorry to find that tasks were not to be off her mind, was too grateful for Miss Fennimore’s cordial consent to entertain any thought except of obedience to the best of her power.
Miss Fennimore was politely summoned to Mrs. Fulmort’s dressing-room for the official communication; but this day was no exception to the general custom, that the red baize door was not passed by the young ladies until their evening appearance in the drawing-room. Then the trio descended, all alike in white muslin, made high, and green sashes—a dress carefully distinguishing Phœbe as not introduced, but very becoming to her, with the simple folds and the little net ruche, suiting admirably the tall, rounded slenderness of her shape, her long neck, and short, childish contour of face, where there smiled a joy of anticipation almost inappreciable to those who know not what it is to spend day after day with nothing particular to look forward to.
Very grand was the drawing-room, all amber-coloured with satin-wood, satin and gold, and with everything useless and costly encumbering tables that looked as if nothing could ever be done upon them. Such a room inspired a sense of being in company, and it was no wonder that Mrs. Fulmort and her two elder daughters swept in in as decidedly procession style as if they had formed part of a train of twenty.
The star that bestowed three female sovereigns to Europe seemed to have had the like influence on Hiltonbury parish, since both its squires were heiresses. Miss Mervyn would have been a happier woman had she married a plain country gentleman, like those of her own stock, instead of giving a county position to a man of lower origin and enormous monied wealth. To live up to the claims of that wealth had been her business ever since, and health and enjoyment had been so completely sacrificed to it, that for many years past the greater part of her time had been spent in resting and making herself up for her appearance in the evening, when she conducted her elder daughters to their gaieties. Faded and tallowy in complexion, so as to be almost ghastly in her blue brocade and heavy gold ornaments, she reclined languidly on a large easy-chair, saying with half-closed eyes—
‘Well, Phœbe, Miss Fennimore has told you of Miss Charlecote’s invitation.’
‘Yes, mamma. I am very, very much obliged!’
‘You know you are not to fancy yourself come out,’ said Juliana, the second sister, who had a good tall figure, and features and complexion not far from beauty, but marred by a certain shrewish tone and air.
‘Oh, no,’ answered Phœbe; ‘but with Miss Charlecote that will make no difference.’
‘Probably not,’ said Juliana; ‘for of course you will see nobody but a set of old maids and clergymen and their wives.’
‘She need not go far for old maids,’ whispered Bertha to Maria.
‘Pray, in which class do you reckon the Sandbrooks?’ said Phœbe, smiling; ‘for she chiefly goes to meet them.’
‘She may go!’ said Juliana, scornfully; ‘but Lucilla Sandbrook is far past attending to her!’
‘I wonder whether the Charterises will take any notice of Phœbe?’ exclaimed Augusta.
‘My dear,’ said Mrs. Fulmort, waking slowly to another idea, ‘I will tell Boodle to talk to—what’s your maid’s name?—about your dresses.’
‘Oh, mamma,’ interposed Juliana, ‘it will be only poking about the exhibitions with Miss Charlecote. You may have that plaid silk of mine that I was going to have worn out abroad, half-price for her.’
Bertha fairly made a little stamp at Juliana, and clenched her fist.
If Phœbe dreaded anything in the way of dress, it was Juliana’s half-price.
‘My dear, your papa would not like her not to be well fitted out,’ said her mother; ‘and Honora Charlecote always has such handsome things. I wish Boodle could put mine on like hers.’
‘Oh, very well!’ said Juliana, rather offended; ‘only it should be understood what is to be done if the Charterises ask her to any of their parties. There will be such mistakes and confusion if she meets any one we know; and you particularly objected to having her brought forward.’
Phœbe’s eye was a little startled, and Bertha set her front teeth together on edge, and looked viciously at Juliana.
‘My dear, Honora Charlecote never goes out,’ said Mrs. Fulmort.
‘If she should, you understand, Phœbe,’ said Juliana.
Coffee came in at the moment, and Augusta criticized the strength of it, which made a diversion, during which Bertha slipped out of the room, with a face replete with mischievous exultation.
‘Are not
