tempt. Mervyn growled at her folly, yawned,
groaned, looked at his watch, counted the heavy hours, and supposed she
must do as she chose.

Her heart rivalled his temples in palpitation, but happily without
affecting eye, voice, or hand, and with Lieschen's help the deed was
successfully done, almost with equal benefit to the operator and the
patient.

Success had put new life into her; the troubles had been forgotten for
the moment, and recurred not as a shameful burthen, caused by her own
imprudence, but as a possible turning-point, a subject for action, not
for despair, and Phoebe was herself again.

'What's that you are writing?' asked Mervyn, starting from a doze on the
sofa.

'A letter to Robert,' she answered reluctantly.

'I suppose you will put it in the _Times_. No woman can keep a thing to
herself.'

'I would tell no one else, but I wanted his advice.'

'Oh, I dare say.'

Phoebe saw that to persist in her letter would utterly destroy the repose
that was essential in Mervyn's state, and she laid aside her pen.

'Going to do it out of sight?' he petulantly said.

'No; but at any rate I will wait till Miss Fennimore has talked to
Bertha. She will be more willing to listen to her.'

'Because this is the result of her emancipating education. Ha!'

'No; but Bertha will attend to her, and cannot say her notions are
servile and contracted.'

'If you say any more, I shall get up and flog them both.'

'Miss Fennimore is very wise,' said Phoebe.

'Why, what has she taught you but the ologies and the Rights of Women?'

'The chief thing she teaches,' said Phoebe, 'is to attend to what we are
doing.'

Mervyn laughed, but did not perceive how those words were the key of
Phoebe's character.

'Sir John and Lady Raymond and Miss Raymond in the drawing-room.'

Unappreciating the benefit of changing the current of thought, Phoebe
lamented their admission, and moved reluctantly to the great rooms, where
the guests looked as if they belonged to a more easy and friendly region
than to that world of mirrors, damask, and gilding.

Sir John shook hands like an old friend, but his wife was one of those
homely ladies who never appear to advantage in strange houses, and Phoebe
had not learnt the art of 'lady of the house' talk, besides feeling a
certain chilliness towards Mervyn's detractors, which rendered her stiff
and formal. To her amaze, however, the languishing talk was interrupted
by his entrance; he