"Ay, yes; her waiting-woman," resumed Mrs. L. "Well, your daughter looks
rather puny and sickly. She needs exercise in the open air, I should
say,--narrow-chested,--comes from a consumptive family on the mother's
side?"

"Madam," said Col. Malcome, with a sudden anger in his tone and manner,
"I don't know as it is any business of yours, from what family my
daughter comes."

"O, no particular business," continued Mrs. Lawson, with undisturbed
equanimity; "I only judged her to come of a consumptive race by her face
and form. Public speaking would be an excellent remedy for her weakly
appearance. That enlarges the lungs, and creates confidence and reliance
on one's own powers. Miss Malcome, would you not like to attend some of
our lectures and reform clubs?"

"I don't know," answered Edith, tremblingly. "I think I would if father
is willing;" and she turned her sweet blue eyes up to his face, as if to
read there her permission or refusal.

"A slave to parental authority, I see," remarked Mrs. Pimble; "but this
lady, grown to years of maturity; she, surely, should have a mind of her
own. Don't you think woman is made a galley-slave by the tyrant man?" she
demanded, turning her discourse on Sylva, who looked confused, as if she
did not quite understand the speech addressed to her. At length, she
asked timidly, "What woman do you refer to, madam?" "To all women upon
the face of the earth!" returned Mrs. Pimble, vehemently. "Are they not
loaded with chains and fetters, and crushed down in filthy mire and dirt
by self-inflated, tyrannizing man?"

"O, no!" answered Sylva, innocently; "no man ever put a chain on me, or
on any woman of my acquaintance, or ever pushed one down in the dirt."

"Poor fool!" exclaimed Mrs. Pimble, with great indignation; "you are
grovelling in the mire of ignorance, and man's foot is on your neck to
hold you there."

The figure that trembled on the edge of the chair was now heard calling
faintly, "Mrs. Pimble--Mrs. Pimble."

"Pimble speaks, sister Justitia," said Mrs. Lawson.

"What do you want?" asked the lady, turning sharply round.

"'Tis four o'clock, ma'am," gasped he.

"Four o'clock! didn't I tell you I wished to be at the lecture-room at
that hour?"

"I didn't like to interrupt you," he answered feebly.

"What a fool of a man!" exclaimed the enraged wife. "Bring the sleigh to
the door, instanter;" and Pimble rushed out, the ladies following close
on his heels, vociferating at the