eakfast, that one must visit America to witness. France can set forth
a very scientific _dejeuner a la fourchette,_ and England has
laboured-and ponderous imitations; but, for the spontaneous,
superabundant, unsophisticated, natural, all-sufficing and all-subduing
morning's meal, take America, in a better-class house, in the country,
and you reach the _ne plus ultra_, in that sort of thing. Tea,
coffee, and chocolate, of which the first and last were excellent, and
the second respectable; ham, fish, eggs, toast, cakes, rolls,
marmalades, &c. &c. &c., were thrown together in noble confusion;
frequently occasioning the guest, as Mr. Woods naively confessed, an
utter confusion of mind, as to which he was to attack, when all were
inviting and each would be welcome.

Leaving Mrs. Willoughby in deep consultation with Mari' on the subject
of this feast, we will next look after the two sweet girls whom we so
abruptly deserted in the last chapter. When Maud's glowing cheeks were
first visible that morning, signs of tears might have been discovered
on them, as the traces of the dew are found on the leaf of the rose;
but they completely vanished under the duties of the toilet, and she
came forth from her chamber, bright and cloudless as the glorious May-
morning, which had returned to cheer the solitude of the manor. Beulah
followed, tranquil, bland and mild as the day itself, the living image
of the purity of soul, and deep affections, of her honest nature.

The sisters went into the breakfast-room, where they had little lady-
like offices of their own to discharge, too, in honour of the guest;
each employing herself in decorating the table, and in seeing that it
wanted nothing in the proprieties As their pleasing tasks were
fulfilled, the discourse did not flag between them. Nothing, however,
had been said, that made the smallest allusion to the conversation of
the past night. Neither felt any wish to revive that subject; and, as
for Maud, bitterly did she regret ever having broached it. At times,
her cheeks burned with blushes, as she recalled her words; and yet she
scarce knew the reason why. The feeling of Beulah was different. She
wondered her sister could ever think she was a Meredith, and not a
Willoughby. At times she feared some unfortunate oversight of her own,
some careless allusion, or indiscreet act, might have served to remind
Maud of the circumstances of her real birth. Yet there was nothing in
the last likely to