about her grandmother's health, when, to his surprise,
he was frustrated by Clarence who had come in before him--his large
person swelling out, as it always seemed to do when he presented himself
upon a new scene, with importance and grandeur.

"Miss Beecham!" he said, "really, who would have thought it? Now look
here, I came to Carlingford thinking there was not a soul I knew in the
place; and here have you turned up all at once, and Northcote (you know
Northcote?). It is very queer."

"It is odd, isn't it?" said Phoebe quickly. "I was astonished to see Mr.
Northcote, and though I heard you were coming I am not less surprised to
see you." "He has not come for me," she said rapidly to herself, "nor
for Ursula either; then who is it?" Phoebe demanded in the depths of her
own bosom; that he should have come for nobody at all, but simply for
his own purposes, to get a little information put into his head, seemed
incredible to both the girls. Ursula, for her part, had been angry when
she discovered his want of meaning, though why she would have found it
hard to say. But Phoebe, for her part, was not angry. She took this like
other things of the kind, with great and most philosophical calm, but
she could not outgrow it all at once. For whom was it? His cousins,
those Miss Dorsets? But they were much older, and not the kind of women
for whom such an act was likely. Her mind wandered forth lively and
curious in search of the necessary clue. She could not consent to the
fact that no clue was necessary where no mystery was.

"I am glad to see that you venture out in this wintry weather," said Mr.
May; "you set us all a good example. I am always telling my girls that
cold weather is no sufficient reason for staying indoors. I wish Ursula
would do as you do."

"Papa, how can you talk so?" said Janey, indignant, "when you know very
well it is not the cold that keeps Ursula in, but because she has so
much to do."

"Oh, yes, one knows the sort of things young ladies have to do," said
Clarence, with a laugh; "read stories, and look up pretty dresses for
their parties, eh, Miss Janey? and consult the fashion-books. Oh, of
course you will deny it; but my mother makes me her confidant, and I
know that's what you all do."

"To be sure," said Phoebe, "we are not so clever as you are, and can't do
so many things. We know no Latin or Greek to keep our minds instructed;
we acknowledge our infirmity; and we couldn't play football to sav