de very
simply attired, but looking so elegant, so unaffectedly good humoured,
and desirous to please and be pleased, that no one could behold her
without being prepossessed in her favour. She accosted Amaranthe with
the utmost kindness, who very coldly accepted her proffered hand, for
she felt an inward acknowledgment of superiority that fretted her beyond
endurance. Nor could she at all account for it, having settled in her
own mind, quite to her satisfaction, that she had never seen any thing
half so ugly or so ill dressed.

The game began, and after each candidate for victory had exerted his
strength and skill, Lionel was unanimously proclaimed the conqueror. The
mistress of the feast had tastefully entwined a wreath of laurel, which
stepping forward she, with an appropriate and polite compliment, placed
upon the head of Lionel. Amaranthe's heart beat violently, for she felt
assured of receiving her accustomed homage, and had ready all her
sweetest smiles, and most engaging complaisance, as she saw Lionel
approach the spot where she was seated. She found, however, that she
might as well have reserved them for a fitter occasion, for he passed
her without notice, and with a graceful bow, and look that bespoke
respect and esteem, laid his trophy at the feet of Ethelinde. Amaranthe
had no strength of mind to command herself on such a trial, nor could
she conceal the disappointment and vexation it cost her, and was still
more insupportably irritated by the general murmur of approbation that
accompanied this action of Lionel. She refused to partake of the
refreshments, and went home burning with feelings of resentment against
him, and of most malignant animosity towards Ethelinde. Still her vanity
was not subdued: she determined that the ball, where she meant to appear
in a blaze of glittering ornaments, that she believed would render her
beauty irresistible, should repay her for all the mortifications of the
morning. She recounted the insult, as she thought fit to call it, that
had been offered to her, in terms of bitter wrath to Claribel, who
attended her toilet; but comforted herself with the near prospect of
recrimination, and declared she should have far more pleasure in
crushing the pride of that insolent little ugly moppet Ethelinde, than
in captivating the first lord in the land. Claribel listened with
patience and pity to the detail of her lamentable misfortunes, and
disclosure of her amiable intentions, and at l