ff, her pale reproachful
little face looking at them wistfully from the window. It was afternoon
by this time, getting dark, and it was a tolerably long walk along the
lighted, crowded streets.

"Cousin Anne, I am afraid we have hurt her feelings," said Ursula; "why
wouldn't you go?"

"Go!" cried mild Anne Dorset; "get into that man's carriage after
yesterday? Not for the world! I can put up with a great deal, but I
can't go so far as that."

"She never did any harm," said Sophy, "poor little soul! You see now,
Ursula, don't you, how fine it is to marry a rich man, and have
everything that your heart can desire?"

Ursula looked at her wondering. To tell the truth, Mrs. Copperhead's
eagerness to buy everything she could think of for the unknown children
at Carlingford, the manner with which she was regarded in the great
shop, her lavish liberality, her beautiful carriage, and all the fine
things about her, had brought Ursula to this very thought, that it was
extremely fine to marry a rich man. Sophy's irony was lost upon her
simple-minded cousin, and so indeed was Mrs. Copperhead's pathos. That
she was very kind, and that she was not very happy, were both apparent,
but Ursula did not connect the unhappiness with the fact that she was a
rich man's wife. Mr. Copperhead certainly was not very _nice_; but when
people got so old as that, they never were very happy, Ursula thought,
and what had the money to do with it? She looked confused and puzzled at
Sophy, wondering what she meant. Yes, indeed, to marry a rich man, to be
able to buy presents for everyone, to make the children at home
perfectly happy without any trouble to one's self! Could any one doubt
that it was very nice? Alas! Ursula did not think it at all likely that
this would ever be in her power.

"Poor Mrs. Copperhead!" said Anne, as they made their way along the
crowded street, where it was difficult for them to walk together, much
less to maintain any conversation. And presently Ursula, keeping as
close as possible to her cousin's side, but compelled to make way
continually for other passers-by, lost herself in a maze of fancies, to
which the misty afternoon atmosphere, and the twinkling lights, and the
quickly passing crowds lent a confused but not unpleasing background.
She was glad that the noise made all talk impossible, and that she could
dream on quietly as they glided and pressed their way through the
current of people in Oxford Street and Regent