ial, and at a little distance she
might pass for the fair Wilhelmina's elder sister. A profusion of
ornaments, too well arranged to appear too numerous, alone distinguish
mother and daughter. She has a handsome profile and a captivating
manner, two dangerous things in woman; but therewith she has an
occasionally malicious expression of eye and mouth, that somewhat
impairs the effect of the captivation.

Her daughter is like her in profile, but has not her fascination of
manner. She is, however, beautiful as a statue, with chiselled features
and marble complexion. But she does not at present appear to have
character enough to possess the clever malice of her mother. This may
possibly come with suitors and rivals, who generally draw out all the
evil, and sometimes much of the good, of woman's nature.

She is now simpering and blushing and saying pretty nothings between
Rowland Prothero and a certain Sir Hugh Pryse, who, on their respective
parts, think her a goose, being attracted elsewhere. Sir Hugh is
exerting his lungs to their utmost, and much beyond the boundaries that
etiquette would vainly try to impose upon them, in endeavouring to
attract the attention of Miss Gwynne; whilst Rowland is, as we before
said, discussing the death of Mr Jenkins and the prospects of his son.

Perhaps the most uncomfortable person at the table is Netta, who really
does not quite understand how to behave herself in the new atmosphere in
which she finds herself. She never was at a dinner-party before, never
waited upon by grand servants, never surrounded by such gay people; and,
in spite of her ambition to eclipse by her beauty the Misses Nugent and
Rice Rice, she feels and looks rather awkward. Miss Gwynne does all in
her power to reassure her, but she sits, looking very pretty--by far the
prettiest person in the room--and very ill at ease, until the ladies
adjourn to the drawing-room, and she takes refuge in the pictures of the
drawing-room scrap-book and her aunt.

The gentlemen arrive in course of time, which they must do, linger as
long as they will over the delights of port and politics, and then the
various schemes and thoughts engendered at the dinner-table are brought
to light over the coffee-cup.

Miss Gwynne patronisingly singles out Rowland Prothero, who, reserved by
nature, feels doubly so amongst the ill-assorted elements around him.

'Have you seen that poor girl since I was last at your house, Mr
Prothero, and how is