r his worship were in the business or not.'

'Yes!' ventured Phoebe, 'but at least he has no part in their doing so.'

'Much you know about it,' said her father, again shielding himself with
his newspaper, but so much less angrily than she had dared to expect,
that even while flushed and trembling, she felt grateful to him as more
placable than Mervyn. She knew not the power of her own sweet face and
gently honest manner, nor of the novelty of an attentive daughter.

When the neighbours remarked on Mrs. Fulmort's improved looks and
spirits, and wondered whether they were the effect of the Rhine or of
'getting off' her eldest daughter, they knew not how many fewer dull
hours she had to spend. Phoebe visited her in her bedroom, talked at
luncheon, amused her drives, coaxed her into the garden, read to her when
she rested before dinner, and sang to her afterwards. Phoebe likewise
brought her sister's attainments more into notice, though at the expense
of Bertha's contempt for mamma's preference for Maria's staring fuchsias
and feeble singing, above her own bold chalks from models and scientific
music, and indignation at Phoebe's constantly bringing Maria forward
rather than her own clever self.

Droning narrative, long drawn out, had as much charm for Mrs. Fulmort as
for Maria. If she did not always listen, she liked the voice, and she
sometimes awoke into descriptions of the dresses, parties, and
acquaintance of her youth, before trifling had sunk into dreary
insipidity under the weight of too much wealth, too little health, and
'nothing to do.'

'My dear,' she said, 'I am glad you are not out. Quiet evenings are so
good for my nerves; but you are a fine girl, and will soon want society.'

'Not at all, mamma; I like being at home with you.'

'No, my dear! I shall like to take you out and see you dressed. You
must have advantages, or how are you to marry?'

'There's no hurry,' said Phoebe, smiling.

'Yes, my dear, girls always get soured if they do not marry!'

'Not Miss Charlecote, mamma.'

'Ah! but Honor Charlecote was an heiress, and could have had plenty of
offers. Don't talk of not marrying, Phoebe, I beg.'

'No,' said Phoebe, gravely. 'I should like to marry some one very good
and wise, who could help me out of all my difficulties.'

'Bless me, Phoebe! I hope you did not meet any poor curate at that place
of Honor Charlecote's. Your papa would never consent.'

'I never met anybody, mamma,' s