t one to tell a story--except she falls to
preaching, and then 'tis tiresome. Do you like sermons, Phoebe?"

"It all depends who preaches them," said Phoebe.

"Well, of course it does," said Rhoda. "I don't like anyone but Dr
Harris--he has such white hands!"

"He does not preach about them, does he?" said Phoebe, apparently
puzzled as to the connection.

"Oh, he nourishes them about, and discovers so many elegancies!"
answered Rhoda.

"But how does that make him preach better?"

"Why, Phoebe, how stupid you are! But you must not interrupt me in that
way, or I shall never be done. Mrs Dolly, you see, is seventy or more;
and in her youth she was in the great world. So she has all manner of
stories, and she'll always tell them when you ask her. I only wish she
did not preach! Well, then, Mrs Jane Talbot--that one with the high
nose, that sat next Mrs Dolly in the coach--she has lively parts
enough, and that turn makes her very agreeable. I don't care for her
sister, Mrs Marcella, that lives next her--she's always having some
distemper, and I don't like sick people. Mrs Clarissa Vane is the
least well-born of all of them; but she's been a toast, you see, and she
fancies herself charming, poor old thing! As for Lady Betty--weren't
you surprised? I believe Madam pays her a good lot to live there; it
gives the place an air, you know. She is Sir Richard Delawarr's aunt,
and he is the great man all about here--all the land that way belongs to
him, as far as you can see. He is of very good family--an old Norman
house. They are thought a great deal of, you know."

"But isn't that strange?" said Phoebe, meditatively. "If Sir Richard is
thought more of because his forefathers came from France six hundred
years ago, why is my grandfather thought less of because he came from
France thirty years ago?"

"O Phoebe! It is not the same thing at all!"

"But why is it not the same thing?" gently persisted Phoebe.

"Oh, nonsense!" said Rhoda, cutting the knot peremptorily. "Phoebe, can
you speak French?"

"Yes."

"Have a care you don't let Madam hear you! Who taught you?--your
father?"

"Yes. He said it was our own language."

"Why, you don't mean to say he was _proud_ of being a Frenchman?" cried
Rhoda, in amazement.

"I think he was, if he was proud of anything," answered Phoebe. "He
loved France very dearly. He thought it the grandest country in the
world."

And Phoebe's voice trembled a little.