thout it. Miss Charlecote said she thought it
was all constitution whether one is stout or not, and that nothing made
much difference, when I asked her about German wines.'

'Oh! Augusta, has Miss Charlecote been here this morning?' exclaimed
Phoebe.

'Yes; she came at twelve o'clock, and there was I actually pinned down to
entertain her, for mamma was not come down. So I asked her about those
light foreign wines, and whether they do really make one thinner; you
know one always has them at her house.'

'Did mamma see her?' asked poor Phoebe, anxiously.

'Oh yes, she was bent upon it. It was something about you. Oh! she
wants to take you to stay with her in that horrible hole of hers in the
City--very odd of her. What do you advise me to do, Miss Fennimore? Do
you think those foreign wines would bring me down a little, or that they
would make me low and sinking?'

'Really, I have no experience on the subject!' said Miss Fennimore,
loftily.

'What did mamma say?' was poor Phoebe's almost breathless question.

'Oh! it makes no difference to mamma' (Phoebe's heart bounded); but
Augusta went on: 'she always has her soda-water, you know; but of course
I should take a hamper from Bass. I hate being unprovided.'

'But about my going to London?' humbly murmured Phoebe.

'What _did_ she say?' considered the elder sister, aloud. 'I don't know,
I'm sure. I was not attending--the heat does make one so sleepy--but I
know we all wondered she should want you at your age. You know some
people take a spoonful of vinegar to fine themselves down, and some of
those wines _are_ very acid,' she continued, pressing on with her great
subject of consultation.

'If it be an object with you, Miss Fulmort, I should recommend the
vinegar,' said Miss Fennimore. 'There is nothing like doing a thing
outright!'

'And, oh! how glorious it would be to see her taking it!' whispered
Bertha into Phoebe's ear, unheard by Augusta, who, in her satisfied
stolidity, was declaring, 'No, I could not undertake that. I am the
worst person in the world for taking anything disagreeable.'

And having completed her meal, which she had contrived to make out of the
heart of the joint, leaving the others little but fat, she walked off to
her ride, believing that she had done a gracious and condescending action
in making conversation with her inferiors of the west wing.

Yet Augusta Fulmort might have been good for something, if her mind and
her a