for twenty, and smiled upon them all.
Grimsby, Hattersley, Hargrave, Lady Lowborough, all shared my sisterly
kindness. Grimsby stared and wondered; Hattersley laughed and jested (in
spite of the little wine he had been suffered to imbibe), but still
behaved as well as he knew how. Hargrave and Annabella, from different
motives and in different ways, emulated me, and doubtless both surpassed
me, the former in his discursive versatility and eloquence, the latter in
boldness and animation at least. Milicent, delighted to see her husband,
her brother, and her over-estimated friend acquitting themselves so well,
was lively and gay too, in her quiet way. Even Lord Lowborough caught
the general contagion: his dark greenish eyes were lighted up beneath
their moody brows; his sombre countenance was beautified by smiles; all
traces of gloom and proud or cold reserve had vanished for the time; and
he astonished us all, not only by his general cheerfulness and animation,
but by the positive flashes of true force and brilliance he emitted from
time to time. Arthur did not talk much, but he laughed, and listened to
the rest, and was in perfect good-humour, though not excited by wine. So
that, altogether, we made a very merry, innocent, and entertaining party.

9th.--Yesterday, when Rachel came to dress me for dinner, I saw that she
had been crying. I wanted to know the cause of it, but she seemed
reluctant to tell. Was she unwell? No. Had she heard bad news from her
friends? No. Had any of the servants vexed her?

'Oh, no, ma'am!' she answered; 'it's not for myself.'

'What then, Rachel? Have you been reading novels?'

'Bless you, no!' said she, with a sorrowful shake of the head; and then
she sighed and continued: 'But to tell you the truth, ma'am, I don't like
master's ways of going on.'

'What do you mean, Rachel? He's going on very properly at present.'

'Well, ma'am, if you think so, it's right.'

And she went on dressing my hair, in a hurried way, quite unlike her
usual calm, collected manner, murmuring, half to herself, she was sure it
was beautiful hair: she 'could like to see 'em match it.' When it was
done, she fondly stroked it, and gently patted my head.

'Is that affectionate ebullition intended for my hair, or myself, nurse?'
said I, laughingly turning round upon her; but a tear was even now in her
eye.

'What do you mean, Rachel?' I exclaimed.

'Well, ma'am, I don't know; but if--'

'If what