l-humour with
my Lord Oxford, on account of--you know?"

"On account? Oh!" and the Bishop's right hand was elevated to his lips,
in the attitude of a person drinking. "Yes, yes. Well, I cannot say I
am entirely ignorant of that affair. Sir Jeremy's lady assured me she
knew, beyond contradiction, that my Lord Oxford once waited on her,
somewhat foxed."

Of course, "she" was the Queen. But why a fox, usually as sober a beast
as others, should have been compelled to lend its name to the vocabulary
of intoxication, is not so apparent.

"Absolutely drunk, I heard," responded Sir Richard; "and she was
prodigiously angered. Said to my Lady Masham, that if it were ever
repeated, she would take his stick from him that moment. Odd, if the
ministry were to fall for such a nothing as that."

"Well, 'twas not altogether reverential to the sovereign," said the
Bishop; "and the Queen is extreme nice, you know."

The threat of taking the stick from a minister was less figurative in
Queen Anne's days than now. The white wand of office was carried before
every Cabinet Minister, not only in his public life, but even in
private.

At this point a third gentleman joined the others, and they moved away,
leaving Phoebe in her corner.

Phoebe sat meditating, for nobody had spoken to her, when she felt a
soft gloved hand laid upon her arm. She turned, suddenly, to look up
into a face which she thought at first was the face of a stranger.
Then, in a moment, she knew Gatty Delawarr.

The small-pox had changed her terribly--far more than her sister. No
one could think of setting her up for a beauty now. The soft,
peach-like complexion, which had been Gatty's best point, was replaced
by a sickly white, pitifully seamed with the scars of the dread disease.

"You did not know me at first," said Gatty, quietly, as if stating a
fact, not making an inquiry.

"I do now," answered Phoebe, returning Gatty's smile.

"Well, you see the Lord made a way for me. But it is rather a rough
one, Phoebe."

"I am afraid you must have suffered _very_ much, Mrs Gatty."

"Won't you drop the Mistress? I would rather. Well, yes, I suffered,
Phoebe; but it was worse since than just then."

Phoebe's face, not her tongue, said, "In what manner?"

"'Tis not very pleasant, Phoebe, to have everybody bewailing you, and
telling all their neighbours how cruelly you are changed, but I could
have stood that. Nor is it delightful to have Molly for eve