was hard that such a diamond should be changed away against such a
false stone as this. In a word, Laura began to be tired of her admired
Blanche. She had assayed her and found her not true; and her former
admiration and delight, which she had expressed with her accustomed
generous artlessness, gave way to a feeling, which we shall not call
contempt, but which was very near it; and which caused Laura to adopt
towards Miss Amory a grave and tranquil tone of superiority, which was
at first by no means to the Muse's liking. Nobody likes to be found out,
or, having held a high place, to submit to step down.

The consciousness that this event was impending did not serve to
increase Miss Blanche's good-humour, and as it made her peevish and
dissatisfied with herself, it probably rendered her even less agreeable
to the persons round about her. So there arose, one fatal day, a
battle-royal between dearest Blanche and dearest Laura, in which the
friendship between them was all but slain outright. Dearest Blanche had
been unusually capricious and wicked on this day. She had been insolent
to her mother; savage with little Frank; odiously impertinent in her
behaviour to the boy's governess; and intolerably cruel to Pincott, her
attendant. Not venturing to attack her friend (for the little tyrant was
of a timid feline nature, and only used her claws upon those who were
weaker than herself), she maltreated all these, and especially poor
Pincott, who was menial, confidante, companion (slave always), according
to the caprice of her young mistress.

This girl, who had been sitting in the room with the young ladies, being
driven thence in tears, occasioned by the cruelty of her mistress, and
raked with a parting sarcasm as she went sobbing from the door, Laura
fairly broke out into a loud and indignant invective--wondered how one
so young could forget the deference owing to her elders as well as to
her inferiors in station; and professing so much sensibility of her own,
could torture the feelings of others so wantonly. Laura told her friend
that her conduct was absolutely wicked, and that she ought to ask pardon
of Heaven on her knees for it. And having delivered herself of a hot
and voluble speech whereof the delivery astonished the speaker as much
almost as her auditor, she ran to her bonnet and shawl, and went home
across the park in a great flurry and perturbation, and to the surprise
of Mrs. Pendennis, who had not expected her until