and fancied what they might be saying about the Spanish Armada. But
now, whether because there was too much talking in the room, or because
the Consecration had lately left no room for the fancies on which she
was accustomed to feed, she could find nothing more sublime to reflect
upon than the appearance of her cousin Anne, who was entertaining the
young Miss Maynard, a shy girl, yet pleased with notice, by a
conversation, which, if not very interesting, saved her from belonging
to any of the four agreeable tribes mentioned at tea-time.

Now, Anne, though she did not posses the tall figure or striking
countenance of her cousins, the Woodbournes, or the brilliant
complexion of her brother, was one of those people who always look
well. She was small and slightly made, and very graceful; and
everything she wore was appropriate and becoming, so that, without
bestowing much thought on the matter, she never looked otherwise than
perfectly well dressed. She was rather pale; her eyes were grey, with
long dark lashes; and her hair brown; her features were well formed and
animated; and though by no means remarkable, everyone called her
nice-looking; some said she was pretty, and a few thought and felt that
her countenance was lovely. So much had lately been said about
dress--about Elizabeth's curls, and Helen's tails, and Anne's
lace--that, wonderful to say, it was the readiest subject Elizabeth
could find to meditate upon. As she looked at her cousin's white
muslin frock, with its border of handsome Moravian work, and its
delicate blue satin ribbons, at her well arranged hair, and pretty
mosaic brooch, she entered upon a calculation respecting the portion of
a woman's mind which ought to be occupied with her dress--a mental
process, the result of which might perhaps have proved of great benefit
to herself, and ultimately to Dora and Winifred, had it not been
suddenly cut short in the midst by a piercing scream from the latter
young lady, who had been playing on the floor with Edward and Fido.

Mrs. Woodbourne instantly caught up the little girl in her arms, and
sat down on the sofa with her on her lap, while Winifred buried her
hand in her pocket-handkerchief, screaming and sobbing violently. Fido
slunk away under the sofa; and Elizabeth hastily made her way through
the circle of ladies who surrounded Mrs. Woodbourne.

'That is what comes of teazing him,' said Mrs. Hazleby reproachfully to
Edward; who answered in a loud v