the Delawarrs, Rhoda had seemed disinclined for
another call on Mrs Dorothy Jennings. Now and then she went to see
Mrs Clarissa, when the conversation usually turned on the fashions and
cognate topics; sometimes she drank tea with Lady Betty, whose discourse
was of rather a more sensible character. Rarely, she looked in on Mrs
Marcella. Mrs Jane had thoroughly estranged her by persisting in her
sarcastic nickname for Rhoda's chosen hero, and letting off little
shafts against him, more smart than nattering. On Mrs Darcy she called
perpetually, perhaps with a view to meet him at her house; but all Mr
Welles' alleged devotion to his dear Aunt Eleanor scarcely ever seemed
to result in his going to see her at the Maidens' Lodge. When Rhoda met
him, which she very often did, it was either by his calling at the
Abbey, or by an accidental _rencontre_--if accidental it were--in some
secluded glade of the Park.

At length, one day, without any warning, a horse cantered up to the side
door, and Molly Delawarr's voice in its loudest tones (and very loud
they were) demanded where all those stupid creatures were who ought to
be there to take her horse. Then Miss Molly, having been helped off,
came marching in, and greeted her friends with a recitative--

"Lucy Locket lost her pocket; `Kitty Fisher found it!'"

"My dear Mrs Molly, I am quite rejoiced to see you!"

"No! you aren't, are you?" facetiously responded Molly. "Rhoda--I vow,
child, you're uglier than ever!--mother wants you for a while. There's
that jade Betty going to come of age, and she means to make the biggest
fuss over it ever was heard. She said she would send Wilson over, but I
jumped on my tit, and came to tell you myself. You'll come, won't you,
old hag?"

Rhoda looked at her grandmother.

"My dear, of course you will go!" responded Madam, "since my Lady
Delawarr is so good. 'Tis so kind in Mrs Molly to take thus much
trouble on herself."

"Fiddle-de-dee!" ejaculated Molly. "I'm no more kind than she's good.
She wants a fuss, and a lot of folks to make it; and I wanted a ride,
and some fun with Rhoda. Where's the goodness, eh?"

"Shall I take Phoebe?" asked Rhoda, doubtfully.

"You'd better," returned Molly, before Madam could speak. "You'll want
somebody to curl your love-locks and stitch your fal-lals; and I'm not
going to do it--don't you fancy so. Oh, I say, Rhoda! you may have
Marcus Welles, if you want him. There's another fellow turn