"Did you like him?"

"_Like_ him!" Phoebe seemed to have no words to answer.

"I never knew anything about mine," went on Rhoda. "He lived till I was
thirteen; and I never saw him. Only think!"

Phoebe gave a little shake of her head, as if _her_ thoughts were too
much for her.

"And my mother died when I was a week old; and I never had any brother
or sister," pursued Rhoda.

"Then you never had any one to love? Poor Cousin!" said Phoebe, looking
at Rhoda with deep compassion.

"Love! Oh, I don't know that I want it," said Rhoda lightly. "How is
Aunt Anne, and where is she?"

"Mother?" Phoebe's voice shook again. "She is going to live with a
gentlewoman at the Bath. She stayed till I was gone."

"Well, you know," was the next remark of Rhoda, whose ideas were not at
all neatly put in order, "you'll have to wear a black gown to-morrow.
It is King Charles."

"Yes, I know," said Phoebe.

"Was your father a Dissenter?" queried Rhoda.

"No," said Phoebe, looking rather surprised.

"Because I can tell you, Madam hates Dissenters," said Rhoda. "She
would as soon have a crocodile to dinner. Why didn't you come in your
black gown?"

"It is my best," answered Phoebe. "I cannot afford to spoil it."

"What do you think of Madam?"

Phoebe shrank from this question. "I can hardly think anything yet."

"Oh dear, I wish to-morrow were over!" said Rhoda with an artificial
shiver. "I do hate the thirtieth of January. I wish it never came. We
have to go to church, and there is only tea and bread and butter for
dinner, and we must not divert ourselves with anything. I'll show you
the ruins, and read you some of my poetry. Did you not know I writ
poetry?"

"No," replied Phoebe. "But will that not be diverting ourselves?"

"Oh, but we can't always be miserable!" said Rhoda. "Besides, what good
does it do? It is none to King Charles: and I'm sure it never does me
good. Oh, and we will go and see the Maidens' Lodge, and make
acquaintance with the old gentlewomen."

"The Maidens' Lodge, what is that?"

"Why, about ten years ago Madam built six little houses, and called it
the Maidens' Lodge; a sort of better-most kind of alms-houses, you know,
for six old gentlewomen--at least, I dare say they are not all old, but
some of them are. (Mrs Vane does not think she is, at any rate.) You
can't see them from this window; they are on the other side of the
church."

"And are they all filled?"

"All b