he
tears were driven back with the thought, 'After all, the decision is
guided from Above. If I stay at home, it _must_ be best for me. Let me
try to be good!' and she forced her mind back to her exports and her
customs. It was such discipline as few girls could have exercised, but
the conscientious effort was no small assistance in being resigned; and
in the precious minutes granted in which to prepare herself for dinner,
she found it the less hard task to part with her anticipations of delight
and brace herself to quiet, contented duty.

The meal was beginning when, with a very wide expansion of the door,
appeared a short, consequential-looking personage, of such plump, rounded
proportions, that she seemed ready to burst out of her riding-habit, and
of a broad, complacent visage, somewhat overblooming. It was Miss
Fulmort, the eldest of the family, a young lady just past thirty, a very
awful distance from the schoolroom party, to whom she nodded with
good-natured condescension, saying: 'Ah! I thought I should find you at
dinner; I'm come for something to sustain nature. The riding party are
determined to have me with them, and they won't wait for luncheon. Thank
you, yes, a piece of mutton, if there were any under side. How it
reminds me of old times. I used so to look forward to never seeing a
loin of mutton again.'

'As your chief ambition?' said Miss Fennimore, who, governess as she was,
could not help being a little satirical, especially when Bertha's eyes
twinkled responsively.

'One does get so tired of mutton and rice-pudding,' answered the less
observant Miss Fulmort, who was but dimly conscious of any one's
existence save her own, and could not have credited a governess laughing
at her; 'but really this is not so bad, after all, for a change; and some
pale ale. You don't mean that you exist without pale ale?'

'We all drink water by preference,' said Miss Fennimore.

'Indeed! Miss Watson, our finishing governess, never drank anything but
claret, and she always had little _pates_, or fish, or something, because
she said her appetite was to be consulted, she was so delicate. She was
very thin, I know; and what a figure you have, Phoebe! I suppose that is
water drinking. Bridger did say it would reduce me to leave off pale
ale, but I can't get on without it, I get so horridly low. Don't you
think that's a sign, Miss Fennimore?'

'I beg your pardon, a sign of what?'

'That one can't go on wi