adopted (from Molly) this not very
complimentary diminutive for her cousin's name, but only used it when
she was in a good humour--"I say, Fib, what did Madam want of you?"

"To know what I thought of Mr Edmundson."

"What fun! Well, what did you?"

"Why, I hoped his sermons would be better than himself: and they
weren't."

"Did you tell Madam that?" inquired Rhoda, convulsed with laughter.

"No, not exactly that; I said--"

"O Fib, I wish you had! She thinks it tip-top impertinence in any woman
to presume to have an opinion about a sermon. My word! wouldn't you
have caught it!"

"Well, I simply told her the truth," replied Phoebe; "that I didn't like
him, and I didn't think he liked me."

Rhoda went off into another convulsion.

"O Fib, you are good--nobody better! What did she say to that?"

"She said his not fancying me wouldn't signify. But I think it would
signify a good deal to me, if I had to be his wife."

"Well, she wouldn't think so, not a bit," said Rhoda, still laughing.
"She'd just be thunderstruck if Mr Edmundson, or anybody else in his
place, refused the honour of marrying anybody related to her. Shouldn't
I like to see him do it! It would take her down a peg, I reckon."

This last elegant expression was caught from Molly.

"Well, I am sure I would rather be refused than taken unwillingly."

"Where did you get your notions. Fib? They are not the mode at all.
You were born on the wrong side of fifty, I do think."

"Which is the wrong side of fifty?" suggestively asked Phoebe.

"I wish you wouldn't murder me with laughing," said Rhoda. "Look here
now: what shall I be married in?"

"White and silver, Mrs Marcella said, this morning."

("This morning!" Phoebe's words came back no her. Was it only this
morning?)

"Thank you! nothing so insipid for me. I think I'll have pink and
dove-colour. What do you say?"

"I don't think I would have pink," said Phoebe, mentally comparing that
colour with Rhoda's red and white complexion. "Blue would suit you
better."

"Well, blue does become me," answered Rhoda, contemplating herself in
the glass. "But then, would blue and dove-colour do? I think it should
be blue and cold. Or blue and silver? What do you think, Phoebe? I
say!"--and suddenly Rhoda turned round and faced Phoebe--"what does
Madam mean by having Mr Dawson here? Betty says he was here twice
while we were visiting, and he is coming again to-morrow. What can it
me