aren't you woman enough yet to know that one
flashes out at finding oneself labelled, and made over before one's
time?'

'I'm glad if it was all my blundering,' said Phoebe. 'Dear Lucy, I was
very wrong, but you see I always was so happy in believing it was
understood!'

'How stupid,' cried Lucilla; 'one would never have any fun; no, you
haven't tasted the sweets yet, or you would know one has no notion of
being made sure of till one chooses! Yes, yes, I saw he was primed and
cocked, but I'm not going to let him go off.'

'Lucy, have you no pity?'

'Not a bit! Don't talk commonplaces, my dear.'

'If you knew how much depends upon it.'

'My dear, I know that,' with an arch smile.

'No, you do not,' said Phoebe, so stoutly that Lucilla looked at her in
some suspense.

'You think,' said honest Phoebe, in her extremity, 'that he only wants to
make--to propose to you! Now, it is not only that, Lucilla,' and her
voice sank, as she could hardly keep from crying; 'he will never do that
if you go on as you are doing now; he does not think it would be right
for a clergyman.'

'Oh! I dare say!' quoth Lucilla, and then a silence. 'Did Honor tell him
so, Phoebe?'

'Never, never!' cried Phoebe; 'no one has said a word against you! only
don't you know how quiet and good any one belonging to a clergyman should
be?'

'Well, I've heard a great deal of news to-day, and it is all my own
fault, for indulging in sentiment on Wednesday. I shall know better
another time.'

'Then you don't care!' cried Phoebe, turning round, with eyes flashing as
Lucilla did not know they could lighten. 'Very well! If you don't think
Robert worth it, I suppose I ought not to grieve, for you can't be what I
used to think you and it will be better for him when he once has settled
his mind--than if--if afterwards you disappointed him and were a fine
lady--but oh! he will be so unhappy,' her tears were coming fast; 'and,
Lucy, I did like you so much!'

'Well, this is the funniest thing of all,' cried Lucilla, by way of
braving her own emotion; 'little Miss Phoebe gone into the heroics!' and
she caught her two hands, and holding her fast, kissed her on both
cheeks; 'a gone coon, am I, Phoebe, no better than one of the wicked; and
Robin, he grew angry, hopped upon a twig, did he! I beg your pardon, my
dear, but it makes me laugh to think of his dignified settling of his
mind. Oh! how soon it could be unsettled again! Come, I won't have a