anger to us. He used to be all day at the bank, or at night in the
House of Commons, or he and mamma went to parties, and we young ones
remained with the governess. Mamma is very kind. I have never, almost,
known her angry; never with us; about us, sometimes, with the servants.
As children, we used to see papa and mamma at breakfast; and then when
she was dressing to go out. Since he has been ill, she has given up all
parties. I wanted to do so too. I feel ashamed in the world, sometimes,
when I think of my poor father at home, alone. I wanted to stay, but my
mother and my grandmother forbade me. Grandmamma has a fortune, which
she says I am to have: since then they have insisted on my being with
her. She is very clever you know: she is kind too in her way; but she
cannot live out of society. And I, who pretend to revolt, I like it
too; and I, who rail and scorn flatterers--oh, I like admiration! I am
pleased when the women hate me, and the young men leave them for me.
Though I despise many of these, yet I can't help drawing them towards
me. One or two of them I have seen unhappy about me, and I like it; and
if they are indifferent I am angry, and never tire till they come back.
I love beautiful dresses; I love jewels; I love a great name and a fine
house--oh, I despise myself, when I think of these things! When I lie
in bed and say I have been heartless and a coquette, I cry with
humiliation; and then rebel and say, Why not?--and to-night--yes,
to-night--after leaving you, I shall be wicked, I know I shall.

Madame de F. (sadly). One will pray for thee, my child.

Ethel (sadly). I thought I might be good once. I used to say my own
prayers then. Now I speak them but by rote, and feel ashamed--yes,
ashamed to speak them. Is it not horrid to say them, and next morning
to be no better than you were last night? Often I revolt at these as
at other things, and am dumb. The Vicar comes to see us at Newcome, and
eats so much dinner, and pays us such court, and "Sir Brians" papa,
and "Your Ladyship's" mamma. With grandmamma I go to hear a fashionable
preacher--Clive's uncle, whose sister lets lodgings at Brighton; such a
queer, bustling, pompous, honest old lady. Do you know that Clive's aunt
lets lodgings at Brighton?

Madame de F. My father was an usher in a school. Monsieur de Florac gave
lessons in the emigration. Do you know in what?

Ethel. Oh, the old nobility! that is different, you know. That Mr.
Honeyman is so affec