a
little sadness in its ring, "ignorance is not innocence, and depravity
is vastly more general than any mode. Nevertheless, there are customs of
which I would greatly prefer Prissy and Fiddy to remain unaware, like
their mother before them."

"But Granny lived in the great world, and there is not one of us like
Granny."

"The risk is too great, child; the fire is wondrous strong, though the
pure gold be sometimes refined in the process--as your father would
preach."

"And, sir, this Mistress Lumley, or Lady Betty, as they called her
downstairs, is as virtuous as she is clever."

"You may depend upon that, Miss, or you had not come to Bath to see her
play. They term the poor soul Lady Betty because she has turned on her
heel from the worthless London sparks, and taught them to keep their
distance."

"Uncle Rowland, I don't think you heartily sympathize with charming Lady
Betty."

"Tut! child, I have not seen her. You would not have me captivated ere I
ever set eyes on my enslaver? But, to speak honestly, little Fiddy, I
own I have no great leaning to actresses and authoresses. There are
perils enough in a woman's natural course, without her challenging the
extremes of a fictitious career. More than that, Fiddy, I have not much
faith in the passion that is ranted to the public; even if it were
always a creditable passion. Those who are sorely hurt don't bawl,
child: deep streams are still."

"I will play to him," the lady of the Nankin sitting-room says to
herself, her lips parting with a slight smile, and her colour rising at
the same time. Your true woman is easily pained, and, the more fully
furnished, the more finely skilled, she is all the more susceptible to
blame as to praise, and so on that account the less qualified for public
life. There was many a strong enough argument against the stage and the
desk which Master Rowland might have used instead of his weak one.

Lady Betty, in that bubbling, frothing, steaming London--Mistress Lumley
in the provinces--was a young actress of great repute and good
character, who had compelled success, like Mrs. Siddons after her, and
reigned for several seasons, and still her fame was paramount and her
respectability unquestioned. In those very dissipated days of Queen Anne
and the early Georges, the broad prejudices which darken the stage were
light in tint and slender in force. The great world was tumultuous,
giddy, reckless, with innumerable victims falling suddenl