a baronet's daughter;
what else am I? I'll have a snip of her gown, if I can."

"O Molly!" exclaimed Rhoda in unfeigned horror.

"Why not? I've scissors in my pocket."

"Molly, you never could!"

"Don't you lay much on those odds, my red currant bush. I can do pretty
near anything I've a mind--when I _have_ a mind."

Rhoda was not pleased by Molly's last vocative, which she took as an
uncomplimentary allusion to the faint shade of red in her hair,--a
subject on which she was peculiarly sensitive. This bit of confidence
had been exchanged out of the hearing of Madam, who had gone to a
cabinet at the other end of the long room, but within that of Phoebe,
who grew more uncomfortable every moment.

"Well, 'tis getting time to say ta-ta," said Molly, rising shortly after
tea was over. "Where's that tit of mine?"

"My dear, I will send to fetch your horse round," said Madam, "Pray,
make my compliments to my Lady Delawarr, and tell her that I cannot but
be very sensible of her kindness in offering Rhoda so considerable a
pleasure."

Madam was about to add more, but Molly broke in.

"Come now! Can't carry all that flummery. My horse would fall lame
under the weight. I'll say you did the pretty thing. Ta-ta! See you
on Monday, old gentlewoman." She turned to Rhoda; threw a nod, without
words, to Phoebe, and five minutes afterwards was trotting across the
Park on her way home to Delawarr Court.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

DELAWARR COURT.

"Le coeur humain a beaucoup de plis et de replis."

_Madame de Motteville_.

"And how goes it, my dear, with Madam and Mrs Rhoda?" inquired little
Mrs Dorothy as she handed a cup to Phoebe.

"They are well, I thank you. Mrs Dolly, I have come to ask your
counsel."

"Surely, dear child. Thou shalt have the best I can give. What is thy
trouble?"

"I have two or three troubles," said Phoebe, sighing. "You know Rhoda
is going to-morrow to Delawarr Court; and I am to go with her. I wish I
need not!"

"Why, dear child?"

"Well, I am afraid it must sound silly," answered Phoebe, with a little
laugh at herself; "but really, I can scarce tell why. Do you never feel
thus unwilling to do a thing, Mrs Dorothy, almost without reason?"

"Ah, there is a reason," said the old lady: "and it comes either from
your body or your mind, Phoebe. If 'tis from your body, let your mind
govern it in any matter you _must_ do. If it come from your mind,
either you see a clear cau