ngrossed by any
one, but no more did she like to see another man preferred to Reginald;
she was jealous both ways. As she sat and watched, a slight little creak
came to her sharp ears, and looking up she saw Mrs. Hurst's drawing-room
window opened the very least little bit in the world. Ah! Janey said,
with a long breath. There was nothing she would not have given to have
talked it all over with Mrs. Hurst, and to hear what she would say, if
she had not been the traditional adversary against whom all the family
steeled their hearts.

That was a very pleasant evening; they all remembered it afterwards. It
was the moment when Ursula discovered all in the darkness, when the moon
was under that cloud, _what Mr. Northcote meant_. It flashed upon her
like a sudden light, though they were standing in the shade of a great
laurel. He did not make any declaration, nor say a word that she could
remember. And yet all at once, by some magic which is not explainable,
she found out that that was what he was meaning. This is not an
admirable sentence; but it is difficult to know how to put it better. It
was quite a strange discovery. It set her heart beating, thumping
against her breast. She herself meant nothing whatever, and she never
thought of any response, or of the time when he might ask her to make a
response. The sensation of the moment was quite enough for Ursula. She
was greatly startled, surprised, yet not surprised, touched and full of
a wondering respect and sympathy, awe and half-amusement. Could it be
possible, was _that_ what it was? Though he was not conscious of
betraying himself in any way, Northcote thought he had done something to
offend her. Her shy silence and withdrawal from him went to his heart;
never had her society been so sweet, never had he had her so completely
to himself. What had he done to alarm or offend her? He went home with
his head full of this, able to think of nothing else.

And Phoebe went home too, escorted by Reginald and Clarence together, to
her grandfather's door, with her head buzzing with many thoughts. It was
not her heart that was in a commotion, like little Ursula's. She was
more experienced, though she was not much older, and had gone through
such discoveries before now. But a much more perplexing accident had
befallen her. Reginald May had fallen in love with her, and Clarence
Copperhead, after considerable resistance and hanging off, was making up
his mind to propose. Yes. Phoebe