mind
now."

"You had better have it in the parcel he will send to-morrow; if you'll
give me the pattern and tell me how much you want, I'll write for it."

"Thank you, Selina. You're very kind, but I won't mind it to-day."

"How very foolish of you, Fanny; you know you want it, and then you'll
be annoyed about it. You'd better let me order it with the other
things."

"Very well, dear: order it then for me."

"How much will you want? you must send the pattern too, you know."

"Indeed, Selina, I don't care about having it at all; I can do very
well without it, so don't mind troubling yourself."

"How very ridiculous, Fanny! You know you want black crape--and you
must get it from Ellis's." Lady Selina paused for a reply, and then
added, in a voice of sorrowful rebuke, "It's to save yourself the
trouble of sending Jane for the pattern."

"Well, Selina, perhaps it is. Don't bother me about it now, there's a
dear. I'll be more myself by-and-by; but indeed, indeed, I'm neither
well nor happy now."

"Not well, Fanny! What ails you?"

"Oh, nothing ails me; that is, nothing in the doctor's way. I didn't
mean I was ill."

"You said you weren't well; and people usually mean by that, that they
are ill."

"But I didn't mean it," said Fanny, becoming almost irritated, "I only
meant--" and she paused and did not finish her sentence.

Lady Selina wiped her pen, in her scarlet embroidered pen-wiper, closed
the lid of her patent inkstand, folded a piece of blotting-paper over
the note she was writing, pushed back the ruddy ringlets from her
contemplative forehead, gave a slight sigh, and turned herself
towards her cousin, with the purpose of commencing a vigorous lecture
and cross-examination, by which she hoped to exorcise the spirit
of lamentation from Fanny's breast, and restore her to a healthful
activity in the performance of this world's duties. Fanny felt what was
coming; she could not fly; so she closed her book and her eyes, and
prepared herself for endurance.

"Fanny," said Lady Selina, in a voice which was intended to be both
severe and sorrowful, "you are giving way to very foolish feelings in
a very foolish way; you are preparing great unhappiness for yourself,
and allowing your mind to waste itself in uncontrolled sorrow in a
manner--in a manner which cannot but be ruinously injurious. My dear
Fanny, why don't you do something?--why don't you occupy yourself?
You've given up your work; you've given up you