f me, and think I care. Only just for a moment to
see you two. Oh, isn't Phoebe grand in that dress? She is like a picture;
you are nothing beside her, Ursula. Tell me, is it nice to have dinner
instead of tea? Did it go off very well, did you enjoy yourselves? Or
were you all unhappy, sitting round the table, eating beef and mutton,"
cried Janey with all the scorn of ignorance, "at that ridiculous hour!"

"I was as miserable as I could be," cried Ursula, "I was not happy at
all. Enjoy myself! with the _entrees_ on my mind, and after what papa
said. Oh, run away, Janey, and dress, or else go to bed. Papa will be so
angry if he comes up and finds you here."

"I should like to make him frantic," cried Janey with vindictive force,
"I should just like to drive him out of his senses! Never mind, yes, I
am angry; haven't I a right to be angry? I am as tall as Ursula--I hope
I know how to behave myself--and when there were people coming, and a
real dinner--"

"Oh, I hear them," cried Ursula in alarm, and Janey flew off, her hair
streaming behind her. Phoebe put her arm round Ursula, and raised her
from the stool. She was not perhaps a perfect young woman, but had her
own ends to serve like other people; yet she had a friendly soul. She
gave her friend a kiss to preface her admonition, as girls have a way of
doing.

"I would not let Janey talk so," she said, "I think you should not talk
so yourself, Ursula, if you will forgive me, of your papa; he is very
nice, and so clever. I should try all I could to please him, and I
should not let any one be disrespectful to him if it was I."

"Oh, Phoebe, if you only knew--"

"Yes, I know, gentlemen don't understand often; but we must do our duty.
He is nice, and clever, and handsome, and you ought to be proud of him.
Dry your eyes, here they are really, coming upstairs. You must be
good-humoured and talk. He is ever so much nicer than the young men,"
said Phoebe, almost loud enough to be heard, as Clarence Copperhead,
sauntering in advance of the others with his large shirt-front fully
displayed, came into the room. He came in half whistling in serene
indifference. Phoebe had "style," it was true; but she was only a
Dissenting parson's daughter, and what were two such girls to Clarence
Copperhead? He came in whistling an opera air, which he let drop only
after he was well inside the door.

"Miss Beecham, let us have some music. I know you can play," he said.

"If Miss May likes,