stayed longer than we meant to stay. Ursula--"

"Your little companion?" said Mr. Copperhead. "Ah; you should take care,
Miss Dorset, of these little persons. They stand in the way of the young
ladies themselves often enough, I can tell you. And so can Mrs.
Copperhead; she knows."

He laughed, and both Anne and Ursula became aware that something
offensive was meant; but what it was, neither of them could make out.
Mrs. Copperhead, whose intelligence had been quickened on that point,
perceived it, and trembled more and more.

"Good-bye, dear," she said to Ursula in an agony. "Though we are not
cousins, we are connections, through your kind Cousin Anne; for she lets
me call her my Cousin Anne too. Perhaps you will come and pay me a visit
sometimes, if--if you can be spared."

"Oh, yes; I should be very glad," said Ursula, confused.

She did not understand why Sir Robert should be in such a hurry, when
both young Mr. Copperhead and his mother were so kind. As for the other
Mr. Copperhead, he did not interest Ursula. But he went down to the door
with them in an excess of civility, offering Anne his arm, which she was
obliged to take, much against her will; and even Ursula felt a passing
pang of humiliation when the footman threw open the great door before
them, and no carriage was visible.

"Oh, you are walking!" said Mr. Copperhead, with one of his big laughs.

After all, a laugh could hurt nobody. Why was it that they all felt
irritated and injured? Even Sir Robert grew scarlet, and when they were
outside on the broad pavement turned almost angrily upon his daughter.

"I tell you what, Anne," he said; "not if it was to save my life, shall
I ever enter that brute's doors again."

"Oh, papa; poor Mrs. Copperhead!" cried kind Anne, with a wail in her
voice. That was all the reply she made.

CHAPTER VII.

SHOPPING.

Next day a telegram came from Southampton, announcing the arrival of the
little Dorsets, which Ursula rejoiced over with the rest, yet was
dreadfully sorry for in her heart. "Now we shall be able to get home,"
the sisters said, and she did her best to smile; but to say that she was
glad to leave London, with all its delights, the bright streets and the
shop-windows, and the theatres, and the excitement of being "on a
visit," would be a great deal more than the truth. She was glad,
sympathetically, and to please the others; but for herself, her heart
fell. It was still winter, and winter is