to think about, as Matilda
could not help it; and she went downstairs.

How the house was lighted up! it was a second daylight, only more
splendid. What delicious warm air filled every room, and every
staircase, and every lobby! How handsome looked the marble floor of the
hall, with its luxurious mats at every door! But as her foot touched
the marble Matilda found something else to think of. Norton came out.
He looked her up and down.

"What's the matter, Norton?" said Matilda, a little wanting to know his
opinion.

"Nothing," said he nodding. "You'll do."

"This will be a very funny dress for me to play proverbs in,--don't you
think so? I don't look much like Judy's Satinalia."

"Not much," said Norton. "You don't look much like Judy's anything. O
Pink! do you know we are going to have a witch here to-night?"

"A witch?" said Matilda.

"A capital witch. It's a capital idea too, for it's a new thing; and
it's so hard to get hold of something new. I expect this'll be the
party of the season."

"What do you mean?" said Matilda.

"You'll see," said Norton. "Only don't be frightened. The witch won't
hurt you."

And here came Judy, and took a good silent stare at Matilda. The two
girls were dressed alike. Norton watched them with a sly glance.
Without any remark or salutation Judy passed them with a toss of her
head, and went into one of the drawing-rooms.

"She'll do," said Norton, with a competent nod of his head in Judy's
direction. "That is, she'll do the insolent, whenever she has a mind
to. She is a case, is Judy Bartholomew. Well, come, we must get out of
the way, Pink. Somebody'll be here soon."

So they strolled into the lighted drawing-rooms, where Judy and David
were; and strolled about, consulting arrangements for the play, till
the doors opened and other white dresses, and coloured sashes, and
gallant white-trowsered young gentlemen began to pour in and claimed
their attention. And ladies accompanied them, not a great many, but a
few favoured mothers and aunts and elder sisters; and soon the
drawing-rooms were all alive with motion and colour, and noisy with the
hum of many voices.

It was a wonderful scene to Matilda. She forgot that she had so little
to do with it, and was so left out of it by the gay little throng. She
did not at first think of that. To be sure she was a stranger; it was
quite natural, as it seemed to her, that she should be left out. The
pleasure was great enough, merely t