discomfort of change of position felt, though
not acknowledged. Even the mother, lady as she was by birth, had only
belonged to the second-rate class of gentry, and while elevated by
wealth, was lowered by connection, and not having either mind or strength
enough to stand on her own ground, trod with an ill-assured foot on that
to which she aspired.

Not that all this crossed Phoebe's mind. There was merely a dreary sense
of depression, and of living in the midst of a grievous mistake, from
which Robert alone had the power of disentangling himself, and she fell
asleep sadly enough; but, fortunately, sins, committed neither by
ourselves, nor by those for whom we are responsible, have not a lasting
power of paining; and she rose up in due time to her own calm sunshiny
spirit of anticipation of the evening's meeting between Robin and
Lucy--to say nothing of her own first dinner-party.

CHAPTER IV

And instead of 'dearest Miss,'
Jewel, honey, sweetheart, bliss,
And those forms of old admiring,
Call her cockatrice and siren.--C. LAMB

The ladies of the house were going to a ball, and were in full costume:
Eloisa a study for the Arabian Nights, and Lucilla in an azure
gossamer-like texture surrounding her like a cloud, turquoises on her
arms, and blue and silver ribbons mingled with her blonde tresses.

Very like the clergyman's wife!

O sage Honor, were you not provoked with yourself for being so old as to
regard that bewitching sprite, and marvel whence comes the cost of those
robes of the woof of Faerie?

Let Oberon pay Titania's bills.

That must depend on who Oberon is to be.

Phoebe, to whom a doubt on that score would have appeared high treason,
nevertheless hated the presence of Mr. Calthorp as much as she could hate
anything, and was in restless anxiety as to Titania's behaviour. She
herself had no cause to complain, for she was at once singled out and led
away from Miss Charlecote, to be shown some photographic performances, in
which Lucy and her cousin had been dabbling.

'There, that horrid monster is Owen--he never will come out respectable.
Mr. Prendergast, he is better, because you don't see his face. There's
our school, Edna Murrell and all; I flatter myself that _is_ a work of
art; only this little wretch fidgeted, and muddled himself.'

'Is that the mistress? She does not look like one.'

'Not like Sally Page? No; she would bewilder the Hiltonbury mind. I
mean you