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 UNIVERSITY orfSfclNOIS LIBRARY AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 
 
 J V 

 
 PHCEBE, JUNIOE. 
 
 % fast Chronicle of (farlingford. 
 
 MRS. OLIPHAST. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1876. 
 
 All rights reserved.
 
 7P3 
 
 &.15 ft* 
 
 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 a ILast Cjjrontcle of Carltngforo. 
 
 H ■ 
 
 ■ ■: 
 
 5' 
 9 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE PASTOR'S PROGRESS. 
 
 1V/TISS PHCEBE TOZER, the only daugh- 
 
 t -^-*- ter of the chief deacon and leading 
 member of the Dissenting connection in 
 Carlingford, married, shortly after his 
 appointment to the charge of Salem Chapel, 
 in that town, the Reverend Mr. Beecham, 
 
 \ one of the most rising young men in the 
 denomination. The marriage was in many 
 
 - ways satisfactory to the young lady's 
 family, for Mr. Beecham was himself the 
 
 v son of respectable people in a good way 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 of business, and not destitute of means ; 
 and the position was one which they had 
 always felt most suitable for their daughter, 
 and to which she had been almost, it 
 may be said, brought up. It is, however, 
 scarcely necessary to add that it was not 
 quite so agreeable to the other leading 
 members of the congregation. I should 
 be very sorry to say that each family 
 wished that preferment for its own favourite 
 daughter ; for indeed there can be no 
 doubt, as Mrs. Pigeon asserted vigorously, 
 that a substantial grocer, whose father 
 before him had established an excellent 
 business, and who had paid for his pew 
 in Salem as long as anyone could re- 
 collect, and supported every charity, and 
 paid up on all occasions when extra ex- 
 pense was necessary, was in every way 
 a more desirable son-in-law than a poor 
 minister as was always dependent on 
 pleasing the chapel folks, and might have 
 to turn out any day. Notwithstanding, 
 however, the evident superiority of the
 
 THE PASTOR'S PROGRESS. 3 
 
 establishment thus attained by Maria 
 Pigeon, there is a certain something 
 attached to the position of the clerical 
 caste, even among such an independent 
 body as the congregation at Salem Chapel, 
 which has its own especial charms, and 
 neither the young people who had been 
 her companions nor the old people who 
 had patronized and snubbed her, felt any 
 satisfaction in seeing Phoebe thus ad- 
 vanced over them to the honours and 
 glories inalienable from the position of 
 minister's wife. All her little airs of 
 bridal vanity were considered as so many 
 offensive manifestations of delight and 
 exultation in her rise in life. Her trous- 
 seau, though pronounced by all competent 
 judges not half so abundant or fine as 
 Maria Pigeon's, still called forth comments 
 which nobody ventured to indulge in, in 
 respect to the grocer's blooming bride. 
 A grocer's lady has a right to anything 
 her parents can afford; but to see a 
 minister's wife swelling herself up, and 
 
 b 2
 
 4 
 
 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 trying to ape the quality, filled the town 
 with virtuous indignation. The sight of 
 young Mrs. Beecham walking about with 
 her card-case in her hand, calling on the 
 Miss Hemmingses, shaking hands with 
 Mrs. Rider the doctor's wife, caused un- 
 mitigated disgust throughout all the back 
 streets of Carlingford ; and " that Pheebe 
 a-sweeping in as if the chapel belonged to 
 her," was almost more than the oldest 
 sitters could bear. Phoebe, it must be 
 added, felt her elevation to the full, and 
 did not spare her congregation. Some- 
 times she would have the audacity to walk 
 from the vestry to the pew, as if she were 
 an office-bearer, instead of coming in 
 humbly by the door as became a woman. 
 She would sit still ostentatiously until 
 everyone had gone, waiting for her hus- 
 band. She quite led the singing, every- 
 body remarked, paying no more attention 
 to the choir than if it did not exist ; and 
 once she had even paused on her way 
 to her seat, and turned down the gas,
 
 THE PASTOR S PROGRESS. O 
 
 which was blazing too high, with an air 
 of proprietorship that nobody could en- 
 dure. 
 
 " Does Salem belong to them Tozers,' 
 I should like to know ?" said Mrs. Brown. 
 " Brown would never be outdone by him 
 in subscriptions, you may be sure, nor 
 Mr. Pigeon neither, if the truth was 
 known. I never gave my money to build 
 a castle for the Tozers." 
 
 Thus the whole congregation expressed 
 itself with more or less eloquence, and 
 though the attendance never diminished, 
 everybody being too anxious to see " what 
 they would do next," the feeling could 
 not be ignored. Phoebe herself, with a 
 courage which developed from the moment 
 of her marriage, took the initiative. 
 
 " It never answers," she said, solemnly, 
 " to marry one of the flock; I knew it, 
 Henery, and I told you so ; and if you 
 would be so infatuated, and marry me 
 when I told you not, for your own in- 
 terests — "
 
 " They're all jealous of you, my pet, 
 that's what it is," said Mr. Beecham, and 
 laughed. He could bear the annoyance 
 in consideration of that sweet conscious- 
 ness of its cause which stole over all his 
 being. Phoebe laughed, too, but not with 
 so delicious a gratification. She felt that 
 there were people, even in Salem, who 
 might be jealous of him. 
 
 " The end of it all is, we must not stay 
 here," she said. " You must find another 
 sphere for your talents, Henery, and I'm 
 sure it will not be difficult. If you get 
 put on that deputation that is going down 
 to the North, suppose you take a few of 
 your best sermons, dear. That can never 
 do any harm — indeed it's sure to do good, 
 to some poor benighted soul at least, 
 that perhaps never heard the truth before. 
 And likewise, perhaps, to some vacant 
 congregation. I have always heard that 
 chapels in the North were very superior 
 to here. A different class of society, and 
 better altogether. These Pigeons and
 
 THE PASTOR S PROGRESS. / 
 
 Browns, and people are not the sort of 
 society for you." 
 
 " Well, there's truth in that," said Mr. 
 Beecham, pulling up his shirt-collar. " Cer- 
 tainly it isn't the sort of thing one was 
 accustomed to." And he lent a serious 
 ear to the suggestion about the sermons. 
 The consequence was that an invitation 
 followed from a chapel in the North, where 
 indeed Mrs. Phoebe found herself in much 
 finer society, and grew rapidly in import- 
 ance and in ideas. After this favourable 
 start, the process went on for many years 
 by which a young man from Homerton 
 was then developed into the influential 
 and highly esteemed pastor of an import- 
 ant flock. Things may be, and probably 
 are, differently/managed now-a-days. Mr. 
 Beecham had unbounded fluency and an 
 unctuous manner of treating his sub- 
 jects. It was eloquence of a kind, though 
 not of an elevated kind. Never to be at 
 a loss for what you have to say is a pro- 
 digious advantage to all men in all posi-
 
 8 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 tions, but doubly so to a popular minister. 
 He had an unbounded wealth of phrase- 
 ology. Sentences seemed to melt out of 
 his mouth without any apparent effort, all 
 set in a certain cadence. He had not, 
 perhaps, much power of thought, but it 
 is easy to make up for such a secondary 
 want when the gift of expression is so 
 strong. Mr. Beecham rose, like an actor, 
 from a long and successful career in the 
 provinces, to what might be called the 
 Surrey side of congregational eminence in 
 London ; and from thence attained his 
 final apotheosis in a handsome chapel near 
 Regent's Park, built of the whitest stone, 
 and cushioned with the reddest damask, 
 where a very large congregation sat in 
 great comfort and listened to his sermons 
 with a satisfaction, no doubt increased by 
 the fact that the cushions were soft as 
 their own easy-chairs, and that carpets and 
 hotwater pipes kept everything snug under 
 foot. 
 
 It was the most comfortable chapel 
 in the whole connection. The seats were
 
 THE PASTOR'S PROGRESS. 
 
 arranged like those of an amphitheatre, 
 each line on a slightly higher level than 
 the one in front of it, so that everybody 
 saw everything that was going on. No dim- 
 ness or mystery was wanted there ; every- 
 thing was bright daylight, bright paint, red 
 cushions, comfort and respectability. It 
 might not be a place very well adapted 
 for saying your prayers in, but then you 
 could say your prayers at home — and it 
 was a place admirably adapted for hearing 
 sermons in, which you could not do at 
 home ; and all the arrangements were 
 such that you could hear in the greatest 
 comfort, not to say luxury. I wonder, for 
 my own part, that the poor folk about 
 did not seize upon the Crescent Chapel on 
 the cold Sunday mornings, and make 
 themselves happy in those warm and 
 ruddy pews. It would be a little amusing 
 to speculate what all the well-dressed pew- 
 holders would have done had this unex- 
 pected answer to the appeal which Mr. 
 Beecham believed himself to make every
 
 10 PHCEBE, JUNIOK. 
 
 Sunday to the world in general, been 
 literally given. It would have been ex- 
 tremely embarrassing to the Managing 
 Committee and all the office-bearers, and 
 would have, I fear, deeply exasperated 
 and offended the occupants of those family 
 pews; but fortunately this difficulty never 
 did occur. The proletariat of Marylebone 
 had not the sense or the courage, or the 
 profanity, which you will, to hit upon 
 this mode of warming themselves. The 
 real congregation embraced none of the un- 
 washed multitude. Its value in mere vel- 
 vet, silk, lace, trinkets, and furs was some- 
 thing amazing, and the amount these com- 
 fortable people represented in the way of 
 income would have amounted to a most 
 princely revenue. The little Salems and 
 Bethesdas, with their humble flocks, could 
 not be supposed to belong to the same 
 species ; and the difference was almost 
 equally marked between such a place of 
 worship as the Crescent Chapel and the 
 parish churches, which are like the nets
 
 THE PASTOR'S PROGRESS. 11 
 
 in the Gospel, and take in all kinds of fish, 
 bad and good. The pew-holders in the 
 Crescent Chapel were universally well off; 
 they subscribed liberally to missionary 
 societies, far more liberally than the peo- 
 ple in St. Paul's close by did to the 
 S. P. G. They had everything of the besft 
 in the chapel, as they had in their houses. 
 They no more economized on their minis- 
 ter than they did on their pew-cushions, 
 and they spent an amount of money on 
 their choir which made the singing-people 
 at St. Paul's gnash their teeth. From all 
 this it will be seen that the atmosphere of 
 the Crescent Chapel was of a very distinct 
 and individual kind. It was a warm, 
 luxurious, air, perfumy, breathing of that 
 refinement which is possible to mere 
 wealth. I do not say there might not be 
 true refinement besides, but the surface 
 kind, that which you buy from upholsterers 
 and tailors and dressmakers, which you 
 procure ready made at schools, and which 
 can only be kept up at a very high cost,
 
 12 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 abounded and pervaded the place. Badly 
 dressed people felt themselves out of place 
 in that brilliant sanctuary; a muddy foot- 
 print upon the thick matting in the pas- 
 sages was looked at as a crime. Clean dry 
 feet issuing out of carriage or cab kept the 
 aisles unstained, even on the wettest day. 
 We say cab, because many of the people 
 who went to the Crescent Chapel objected 
 to take out their own carriages or work 
 their own horses on Sunday ; and there 
 were many more who, though they did 
 not possess carriages, used cabs with a 
 freedom incompatible with poverty. As 
 a general rule, they were much better off 
 than the people at St. Paul's, more univer- 
 sally prosperous and well-to-do. And 
 they were at the same time what you might 
 safely call well-informed people — people 
 who read the newspapers, and sometimes 
 the magazines, and knew what was going 
 on. The men were almost all liberal in 
 politics, and believed in Mr. Gladstone 
 with enthusiasm ; the women often " took
 
 THE PASTOR'S PROGRESS. 13 
 
 an interest " in public movements, especi- 
 ally of a charitable character. There was 
 less mental stagnation among them pro- 
 bably than among many of their neigh- 
 bours. Their life was not profound nor 
 high, but still it was life after a sort. 
 Such was the flock which had invited 
 Mr. Beecham to become their pastor when 
 he reached the climax of his career. They 
 gave him a very good salary, enough to 
 enable him to have a handsome house 
 in one of the terraces overlooking Regent's 
 Park. It is not a fashionable quarter, but 
 it is not to be despised in any way. The 
 rooms were goodsized and lofty, and some- 
 times have been known to suffice for very 
 fine people indeed, a fact which the Beech- 
 ams were well aware of; and they were 
 not above the amiable weakness of making 
 it known that their house was in a line 
 with that of Lady Cecilia Burleigh. This 
 single fact of itself might suffice to mark 
 the incalculable distance between the 
 Reverend Mr. Beecham of the Cresent
 
 14 
 
 Chapel, and the young man who began life 
 as minister of Salem in Carlingford. And 
 the development outside was not less re- 
 markable than the development within. 
 
 It is astonishing how our prejudices 
 change from youth to middle age, even 
 without any remarkable interposition of 
 fortune ; I do not say dissipate, or even 
 dispel, which is much more doubtful — 
 but they change. When Mr. and Mrs. 
 Beecham commenced life, they had both 
 the warmest feeling of opposition to the 
 Church and everything churchy. All the 
 circumstances of their lives had en- 
 couraged this feeling. The dislike of the 
 little for the great ; the instinctive opposi- 
 tion of a lower class towards the higher, 
 intensified that natural essence of separa- 
 tism, that determination to be wiser than 
 one's neighbour, which in the common 
 mind lies at the bottom of all dissent. 
 In saying this we no more accuse Dissenters 
 in religion than Dissenters in politics, or 
 in art, or in criticism. The first dissenter
 
 THE PASTOR'S PROGRESS. 15 
 
 in most cases is an original thinker, to 
 whom his enforced departure from the 
 ways of his fathers is misery and pain. 
 Generally he has a hard struggle with 
 himself before he can give up, for the 
 superlative truth which has taken posses- 
 sion of him, all the habits, the pious 
 traditions of his life. He is the real Non- 
 conformist — half martyr, half victim of 
 his convictions. But that Nonconformity 
 which has come to be the faith in which 
 a large number of people are trained is a 
 totally different business, and affects a 
 very different kind of sentiments. Per- 
 sonal and independent conviction has no 
 more to do with it than it has to do with 
 the ardour of a Breton peasant trained in 
 deepest zeal of Romanism, or the un- 
 bounded certainty of any other traditionary 
 believer. For this reason we may be allowed 
 to discuss the changes of feeling which mani- 
 fested themselves in Mr. and Mrs. Beecham 
 without anything disrespectful to Noncon- 
 formity. Not being persons of original
 
 16 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 mind, they were what their training and 
 circumstances, and a flood of natural 
 influences, made them.. They began life, 
 feeling themselves to be of a hopelessly 
 low social caste, and believing themselves 
 to be superior to their superiors in that 
 enlightenment which they had been brought 
 up to believe distinguished the connec- 
 tion. The first thing which opened their 
 minds to a dawning doubt whether their 
 enlightenment was, in reality, so much 
 greater than that of their neighbours, was 
 the social change worked in their position 
 by their removal from Carlingford. In 
 the great towns of the North, Dissent 
 attains its highest social elevation, and 
 Chapel people are no longer to be dis- 
 tinguished from Church people except by 
 the fact that they go to Chapel instead of 
 Church, a definition so simple as to be quite 
 overwhelming to the unprepared dissenting 
 intelligence, brought up in a little Tory 
 borough, still holding for Church and 
 Queen. The amazing difference which
 
 a pastor's progress. 17 
 
 this made in the sentiments of Mrs. 
 Phoebe Beecham, nee Tozer, it is quite im- 
 possible to describe. Her sudden intro- 
 duction to "circles" which Mrs. Pigeon 
 had never entered, and to houses, in which 
 Mr. Brown, the dairyman, would have 
 humbly waited at the area-door, would 
 have turned the young woman's head, had 
 she not felt the overpowering necessity of 
 keeping that organ as steady as possible, 
 to help her to hold her position in the 
 new world. Phoebe was a girl of spirit, and 
 though her head went round and round, 
 and everything felt confused about her, she 
 did manage desperately to hold her own and 
 to avoid committing herself; but I cannot 
 attempt to tell how much her social elevation 
 modified her sectarian zeal. Phoebe was 
 only a woman, so that I am free to assign 
 such motives as having a serious power 
 over her. Let us hope Mr. Beecham, being 
 a man and a pastor, was moved in a more 
 lofty, intellectual, and spiritual way. 
 But however, that may be, the pair went 
 vol. i. c 

 
 18 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 conjugally together in this modification of 
 sentiment, and by the time they reached 
 the lofty eminence of the Crescent Chapel, 
 were as liberal-minded Nonconformists as 
 heart could desire. Mr. Beecham indeed 
 had many friends in the Low, and even 
 some in the Broad Church. He appeared 
 on platforms, to promote various public 
 movements, along with clergymen of the 
 Church. He spoke of "our brethren 
 within the pale of the Establishment" 
 always with respect, sometimes even with 
 enthusiasm. " Depend upon it, my dear 
 Sir," he would even say sometimes to a 
 liberal brother, " the Establishment is not 
 such an unmitigated evil as some people 
 consider it. What should we do in coun- 
 try parishes where the people are not 
 awakened ? They do the dirty work 
 for us, my dear brother — the dirty 
 work." These sentiments were shared, 
 but perhaps not warmly, by Mr. Beech- 
 am's congregation, some of whom were 
 hot Yoluntaries, and gave their ministers
 
 19 
 
 a little trouble. But the most part took 
 their Nonconformity very quietly, and 
 were satisfied to know that their chapel 
 was the first in the connection, and their 
 minister justly esteemed as one of the 
 most eloquent. The Liberation Society 
 held one meeting at the Crescent Chapel, 
 but it was not considered a great success. 
 At the best, they were no more than 
 lukewarm Crescent-Chapelites, not politi- 
 cal dissenters. Both minister and people 
 were Liberal, that was the creed they 
 professed. Some of the congregations 
 Citywards, and the smaller chapels about 
 Hampstead and Islington, used the word 
 Latitudinarian instead ; but that, as the 
 Crescent Chapel people said, was a word 
 always applied by the bigoted and igno- 
 rant to those who held in high regard the 
 doctrines of Christian charity. They 
 were indeed somewhat proud of their 
 tolerance, their impartiality, their free- 
 dom from old prejudices. " That sort of 
 thing will not do now-a-days," said Mr. 
 
 c 2
 
 20 
 
 Copperhead, who was a great railway con- 
 tractor and one of the deacons, and who 
 had himself a son at Oxford. If there had 
 been any bigotry in the Crescent, Mr. 
 Copperhead would have had little difficulty 
 in transferring himself over the way to St. 
 Paul's Church, and it is astonishing what 
 an effect that fact had upon the mind 
 of Mr. Beecham's flock. 
 
 Mr. Beecham's house was situated in 
 Regent's Park, and was constructed on 
 the ordinary model of such houses. On 
 the ground-floor was a handsome dining- 
 room, a room which both Mr. and Mrs. 
 Beecham twenty years before would have 
 considered splendid, but which now they 
 condescended to, as not so large as they 
 could wish, but still comfortable. The 
 drawing-room above was larger, a bright 
 and pleasant room, furnished with consider- 
 able " taste." Behind the dining-room, a 
 smaller room was Mr. Beecham's study, or 
 the library, as it was sometimes called. It 
 was lined with book-cases containing a 
 very fair collection of books, and orna-
 
 a pastor's progress. 21 
 
 merited with portraits (chiefly engravings) 
 of celebrated ministers and laymen in the 
 connection, with a bust of Mr. Copper- 
 head over the mantelpiece. This bust had 
 been done by a young sculptor whom he 
 patronized, for the great man's own 
 house. When it was nearly completed, 
 however, a flaw was found in the marble, 
 which somewhat detracted from its perfec- 
 tion. The flaw was in the shoulder of the 
 image, and by no means serious ; but Mr. 
 Copperhead was not the man to pass over 
 any such defect. After a long and serious 
 consultation over it, which made the young 
 artist shake in his shoes, a solution was 
 found for the difficulty. 
 
 " Tell you what, Sir," said Mr. Copper- 
 head ; " I'll give it to the minister. It'll 
 look famous in his little study. Works of 
 art don't often come his way ; and you'll 
 get a block of the best, Mr. Chipstone — 
 the very best, Sir, no expense spared — and 
 begin another for me." 
 
 This arrangement was perfectly satis- 
 factory to all parties, though I will not
 
 22 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 say that it was not instrumental in bring- 
 ing about certain other combinations which 
 will be fully discussed in this history. The 
 Beechams were mightily surprised when 
 the huge marble head, almost as large as 
 a Jupiter, though perhaps not otherwise 
 so imposing, arrived at the Terrace ; but 
 they were also gratified. 
 
 " It is quite like receiving us into his 
 own family circle," Mrs. Beecham said with 
 a glance at her daughter, Phoebe, junior, 
 who, with all her pink fingers outspread, 
 was standing in adoration before that 
 image of wealth and fabulous luxury. 
 
 " What a grand head it is," cried the 
 young enthusiast, gazing rapt upon the 
 complacent marble whisker so delightfully 
 curled and bristling with realistic force. 
 
 "It looks well, I must say, it looks 
 well," said Mr. Beecham himself, rubbing 
 his hands, "to receive such a token of 
 respect from the leading member of the 
 flock." And certainly no more perfect re- 
 presentation of a bell-wether, ever adorned 
 any shepherd's sanctuary.
 
 23 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE LEADING MEMBER. 
 
 11/TR. COPPERHEAD, to whom so much 
 -^-*~ allusion has been made, was a well- 
 known man in other regions besides that 
 of the. Crescent chapel. His name, indeed, 
 may be said to have gone to the ends 
 of the earth, from whence he had con- 
 ducted lines of railway, and where he had 
 left docks, bridges, and light-houses to 
 make him illustrious. He was one of the 
 greatest contractors for railways and other 
 public works in England, and, by conse- 
 quence, in the world. He had no more 
 than a very ordinary education, and no 
 manners to speak of; but at the same
 
 24 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 time, he had that kind of faculty which is 
 in practical work what genius is in litera- 
 ture, and, indeed, in its kind is genius too, 
 though it neither refines nor even (oddly 
 enough) enlarges the mind to which it 
 belongs. He saw the right track for a 
 road through a country with a glance of 
 his eye ; he mastered all the points of 
 nature which were opposed to him in the 
 rapidest survey, though scientifically he 
 was great in no branch of knowledge. He 
 could rule his men as easily as if they were 
 so many children ; and, indeed, they were 
 children in his hands. All these, gifts 
 made it apparent that he must have been 
 a remarkable and able man ; but no 
 stranger would have guessed as much 
 from his appearance or his talk. There 
 were people, indeed, who knew him well, 
 and who remained incredulous and bewil- 
 dered, trying to persuade themselves that 
 his success must be owing to pure luck, 
 for that he had nothing else to secure it. 
 The cause of this, perhaps, was that he
 
 THE LEADING MEMBER. 25 
 
 knew nothing about books, and was one 
 of those jeering cynics who are so com- 
 mon under one guise or another. Fine 
 cynics are endurable, and give a certain 
 zest often to society, which might become 
 too civil without them ; but your coarse 
 cynic is not pleasant. Mr. Copperhead's 
 eye was as effectual in quenching emotion 
 of any but the coarsest kind as water is 
 against fire. People might be angry in 
 his presence — it was the only passion he 
 comprehended ; but tenderness, sympathy, 
 sorrow, all the more generous sentiments, 
 fled and concealed themselves when this 
 large, rich, costly man came by. People 
 who were brought much in contact with 
 him became ashamed of having any feel- 
 ings at all ; his eye upon them seemed to 
 convict them of humbug. Those eyes were 
 very light grey, prominent, with a jeer in 
 them which was a very powerful moral 
 instrument. His own belief was that he 
 could " spot " humbug wherever he saw 
 it, and that nothing could escape him ;
 
 26 PHOEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 and, I suppose, so much humbug is there 
 in this world that his belief was justified. 
 But there are few more awful people than 
 those ignoble spectators whose jeer arrests 
 the moisture in the eye, and strangles the 
 outcry on their neighbour's lip. 
 
 Mr. Copperhead had risen from the 
 ranks ; yet not altogether from the ranks. 
 His father before him had been a con- 
 tractor, dealing chiefly with canals and 
 roads, and the old kind of public works ; 
 a very rough personage indeed, but one 
 to whose fingers gold had stuck, perhaps 
 because of the clay with which they were 
 always more or less smeared. This an- 
 cestor had made a beginning to the family, 
 and given his son a name to start with. 
 Our Mr. Copperhead had married young, 
 and had several sons, who were all in 
 business, and all doing well; less vigorous, 
 but still moderately successful copies of 
 their father. When, however, he had thus 
 done his duty to the State, the first Mrs. 
 Copperhead having died, he did the only
 
 THE LEADING MEMBER. 27 
 
 incomprehensible action of his life — he 
 married a second time, a feeble, pretty, 
 pink-and-white little woman, who had 
 been his daughter's governess ; married 
 her without rhyme or reason, as all his 
 friends and connections said. The only- 
 feasible motive for this second union 
 seemed to be a desire on Mr. Copperhead's 
 part to have something belonging to him 
 which he could always jeer at, and in this 
 way the match was highly successful. 
 Mrs. Copperhead the second was gushing 
 and susceptible, and as good a butt as 
 could be imagined. She kept him in prac- 
 tice when nobody else was at hand. She 
 was one of those naturally refined but less 
 than half-educated, timid creatures who 
 are to be found now and then painfully 
 earning the bread which is very bitter to 
 them in richer people's houses, and pre- 
 serving in their little silent souls some 
 fetish in the shape of a scrap of gentility, 
 which is their sole comfort, or almost their 
 sole comfort. Mrs. Copperhead's fetish
 
 28 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 was the dear recollection that she was 
 " an officer's daughter ;" or rather this 
 had been her fetish in the days when she 
 had nothing, and was free to plume herself 
 on the reflected glory. Whether in the 
 depths of her luxurious abode, at the 
 height of her good fortune, she still found 
 comfort in the thought, it would be hard 
 to tell. Everybody who had known her 
 in her youth thought her the most 
 fortunate of women. Her old school 
 companions told her story for the en- 
 couragement of their daughters, as they 
 might have told a fairy tale. To see her 
 rolling in her gorgeous carriage, or bowed 
 out of a shop where all the daintiest 
 devices of fashion had been placed at her 
 feet, filled passers-by with awe and envy. 
 She could buy whatever she liked, festoon 
 herself with finery, surround herself with 
 the costliest knick-knacks ; the more there 
 were of them, and the costlier they were, 
 the better was Mr. Copperhead pleased. 
 She had everything that heart could desire.
 
 THE LEADING MEMBER. 29 
 
 Poor little woman ! What a change from 
 the governess-chrysalis who was snubbed 
 by her pupil and neglected by everybody ! 
 and yet I am not sure that she did not — 
 so inconsistent is human nature — look 
 back to those melancholy days with a 
 sigh. 
 
 This lady was the mother of Clarence 
 Copperhead, the young man who was at 
 Oxford, her only child, upon whom (of 
 course) she doted with the fondest folly ; 
 and whom his father jeered at more than 
 at anyone else in the world, more even 
 than at his mother, yet was prouder of 
 than of all his other sons and all his pos- 
 sessions put together. Clarence, whom I 
 will not describe, as he will, I trust, show 
 himself more effectually by his actions, 
 was like his mother in disposition, or so, 
 at least, she made herself happy by think- 
 ing ; but by some freak of nature he was 
 like his father in person, and carried his 
 mouse's heart in a huge frame, somewhat 
 hulking and heavy-shouldered, with the
 
 30 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 same roll which distinguished Mr. Cop- 
 perhead, and which betrayed something 
 of the original navvy who was the 
 root of the race. He had his father's 
 large face too, and a tendency to- 
 wards those demonstrative and offensive 
 whiskers which are the special inheritance 
 of the British Philistine. But instead of 
 the large goggle eyes, always jeering and 
 impudent, which lighted up the paternal 
 countenance, Clarence had a pair of mild 
 brown orbs, repeated from his mother's 
 faded face, which introduced the oddest 
 discord into his physiognomy generally. 
 In the family, that is to say among the 
 step-brothers and step-sisters who formed 
 Mr. Copperhead's first family, the young 
 fellow bore no other name than that of the 
 curled darling, though, indeed, he was as 
 far from being curled as anyone could be. 
 He was not clever ; he had none of the 
 energy of his race, and promised to be as 
 useless in an office as he would have been 
 in a cutting or a yard full of men. I am
 
 THE LEADING MEMBER. 31 
 
 not sure that this fact did not increase 
 secretly his father's exultation and pride 
 in him. Mr. Copperhead was fond of 
 costly and useless things ; he liked them 
 for their cost, with an additional zest in 
 his sense of the huge vulgar use and profit 
 of most things in his own life. This ten- 
 dency, more than any appreciation of the 
 beautiful, made him what is called a patron 
 of art. It swelled his personal importance 
 to think that he was able to hang up thou- 
 sands of pounds, so to speak, on his walls, 
 knowing all the time that he could make 
 thousands more by the money had he 
 invested it in more useful ways. The 
 very fact that he could afford to refrain 
 from investing it, that he could let it lie 
 there useless, hanging by so many cords 
 and ribbons, was sweet to him. And so 
 also it was sweet to him to possess a per- 
 fectly useless specimen of humanity, which 
 had cost him a great deal, and promised 
 to cost him still more. He had plenty of 
 useful sons as he had of useful money.
 
 32 PHOEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 The one who was of no use was the apex 
 and glory of the whole. 
 
 But these three made up a strange 
 enough family party, as may be supposed. 
 The original Copperheads, the first family, 
 who were all of the same class and nature, 
 would have made a much noisier, less 
 peaceable household ; but they would have 
 been a much jollier and really more har- 
 monious one. Mr. Copperhead himself 
 somewhat despised his elder sons, who 
 were like himself, only less rich, less 
 vigorous, and less self-assertive. He saw, 
 oddly enough, the coarseness of their 
 manners, and even of their ways of think- 
 ing ; but yet he was a great deal more 
 comfortable, more at his ease among them, 
 than he was when seated opposite his 
 trembling, deprecating, frightened little 
 wife, or that huge youth who cost him so 
 much and returned him so little. Now 
 and then, at regular periodical intervals, 
 the head of the family would go down to 
 Blackheath to dine and spend the night
 
 THE LEADING MEMBER. 33 
 
 with his son Joe, the second and the 
 favourite, where there were romping chil- 
 dren and a portly, rosy young matron, and 
 loud talk about City dinners, contracts, 
 and estimates. This refreshed him, and 
 he came home with many chuckles over 
 the imperfections of the family. 
 
 46 My sons buy their wives by the hundred- 
 weight," he would say jocularly at breakfast 
 the day after ; " thirteen stone if she is a 
 pound, is Mrs. Joe. Expensive to keep up 
 in velvet and satin, not to speak of mutton 
 and beef. Your mother comes cheap," he 
 would add aside to Clarence, with a rolling 
 laugh. Thus he did not in the least 
 exempt his descendants from the universal 
 ridicule which he poured on all the world ; 
 but when he sat down opposite his timid 
 little delicate wife, and by his University 
 man, who had very little on the whole to 
 say for himself, Mr. Copperhead felt the 
 increase in gentility as well as the failure 
 in jollity. " You are a couple of ghosts 
 after Joe and his belongings, you two. 
 
 VOL. I. d
 
 34 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 Speak louder, I say, young fellow. You 
 don't expect me to hear that penny- whistle 
 of yours," he would say, chuckling at 
 them, with a mixture of pride and disdain. 
 They amused him by their dullness and 
 silence, and personal awe of him. He was 
 quite out of his element between these 
 two, and yet the very fact pleasantly ex- 
 cited his pride. 
 
 " I speak as gentlemen generally speak," 
 said Clarence, who was sometimes sullen 
 when attacked, and who knew by expe- 
 rience that his father was rarely offended 
 by such an argument. 
 
 '• And I am sure, dear, your papa would 
 never wish you to do otherwise," said 
 anxious Mrs. Copperhead, casting a fur- 
 tive, frightened glance at her husband. 
 He rolled out a mighty laugh from the 
 head of the table where he was sitting. 
 lie contemplated them with a leer that 
 would have been insulting, had he not been 
 the husband of one and the father of the 
 other. The laugh and the look called
 
 THE LEADING MEMBER. 35 
 
 forth some colour on Mrs. Copperhead's 
 cheek, well as she was used to them ; but 
 her son was less susceptible, and ate his 
 breakfast steadily, and did not care. 
 
 " A pretty pair you are," said Mr # 
 Copperhead. " I like your gentility. How 
 much fois gras would you eat for breakfast, 
 I wonder, my lad, if you had to work for 
 it ? Luckily for you, I wasn't brought 
 up to talk, as you say, like a gentleman. 
 I'd like to see you managing a field of 
 navvies with that nice little voice of yours 
 — ay, or a mob before the hustings, my 
 boy. You're good for nothing, you are ; 
 a nice delicate piece of china for a cup- 
 board, like your mother before you. 
 However, thank Heaven, we've got the 
 cupboard," he said with a laugh, looking 
 round him ; " a nice big 'un, too, well 
 painted and gilded ; and the time has 
 come, through not talking like a gentleman, 
 that I can afford you. You should hear 
 Joe. When that fellow talks, his house 
 shakes. Confounded bad style of house, 
 
 d 2
 
 36 THCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 walls like gingerbread. How the boards 
 don't break like pie-crust under Mrs. Joe's 
 fairy foot, I can't make out. By Jove, 
 ma'am, one would think I starved you, to 
 see you beside your daughter-in-law. Al- 
 ways had a fine healthy appetite, had Mrs. 
 Joe." 
 
 There was nothing to answer to this 
 speech, and therefore a dead silence en- 
 sued. When the master of the house is 
 so distinctly the master, silence is apt to 
 ensue after his remarks. Mrs. Copper- 
 head sipped her tea, and Clarence worked 
 steadily through his breakfast, and the 
 head of the family crumpled the Times, 
 which he read at intervals. All sorts of 
 jokes had gone on at Joe's table the morn- 
 ing before, and there had been peals of 
 laughter, and Mrs. Jov3 had even admin- 
 istered a slap upon her husband's ruddy 
 cheek for some pleasantry or other. 
 Mr. Copperhead, as he looked at his son 
 and his wife, chuckled behind the Times. 
 When they thought he was occupied they
 
 THE LEADING MEMBER. 37 
 
 made a few gentle remarks to each other. 
 They had soft voices, with that indescrib- 
 able resemblance in tone which so often 
 exists between mother and son. Dresden 
 china ; yes, that was the word ; and to see 
 his own resemblance made in that delicate 
 pate, and elevated into that region of 
 superlative costliness tickled Mr. Copper- 
 head, and in the most delightful way. 
 
 " How about your ball?" was his next 
 question, " or Clarence's ball, as you 
 don't seem to take much interest in it, 
 ma'am ? You are afraid of being brought 
 in contact with the iron pots, eh ? You 
 might crack or go to pieces, who knows, 
 and what would become of me, a wretched 
 widower." Mr. Copperhead himself 
 laughed loudly at this joke, which did not 
 excite any mirth from the others, and 
 then he repeated his question, " How 
 about the ball ?" 
 
 " The invitations are all sent out, Mr. 
 Copperhead; ninety-five— I — I mean a 
 hundred and thirty-five. I — I beg your
 
 38 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 pardon, they were in two lots," answered 
 the poor woman nervously. " A hundred 
 and thirty-eight — and there is — a few 
 more — " 
 
 " Take your time, ma'am, take your 
 time, we'll get at the truth at last," said 
 her husband ; and he laid down his. paper 
 and looked at her. He was not angry nor 
 impatient. The twinkle in his eye was 
 purely humorous. Her stumblings amused 
 him, and her nervousness. But oddly 
 enough, the most furious impatience could 
 not have more deeply disconcerted her. 
 
 " There are a few more — some old 
 friends of mine," she went on, confused. 
 " They were once rather — kind — took an 
 interest ; that is — " 
 
 " Oh, the baronet and his daughters," 
 said Mr. Copperhead, " by all means let's 
 have the baronet and his daughters. 
 Though as for their taking an interest — 
 if you had not been a rich man's wife, 
 ma'am, living in a grand house in Port- 
 land Place—"
 
 THE LEADING MEMBER. 39 
 
 " It was not now," she said, hurriedly. 
 " I do not suppose that anyone takes an 
 interest — in me now — " 
 
 Mr. Copperhead laughed, and nodded 
 his head. " Not many, ma'am, I should 
 think — not many. You women must 
 make up your minds to that. It's all very 
 well to take an interest in a pretty girl ; 
 but when you come to a certain age — 
 Well, let's proceed, the baronet — " 
 
 f And his two girls — " 
 
 "Ah, there's two girls ! that's for you, 
 Ckrence, my boy. I thought there must 
 be a motive. Think that fellow a good 
 parti, eh ? And I would not say they 
 were far wrong if he behaves himself. 
 Make a note of the baronet's daugh- 
 ter, young man. Lord, what a world it 
 is !" said Mr. Copperhead, reflectively. 
 " I should not wonder if you had been 
 scheming, too." 
 
 " I would not for the world !" cried 
 :he poor little woman, roused for once. 
 ;; I would not for anything interfere with
 
 40 
 
 a marriage. That is the last thing you 
 ueed fear from me. Whether it was a 
 girl I was fond of, or a girl I disliked — so 
 long as she was Clarence's choice. Oh, 
 I know the harm that is done by other 
 people's meddling — nothing, nothing, 
 would induce me to interfere." 
 
 Mr. Copperhead laid down his paper, 
 and looked at her. I suppose, however 
 little a man may care for his wife, he does 
 not relish the idea that she married him 
 for anything but love. He contemplated 
 her still with amused ridicule, but with 
 something fiercer in his eyes. ' ; Oh — li !" 
 he said, " you don't like other peoole 
 to interfere ? not so much as to say, it's 
 a capital match, eh ? You'll get so and 
 so, and so and so, that you couldn't haye 
 otherwise — carriages perhaps, and plenty 
 of money in your pocket (which it may 
 be you never had in your life before) and 
 consideration, and one of the finest houses 
 in London, let us say in Portland Place. 
 You don't like that amount of good ad-
 
 THE LEADING MEMBER. 41 
 
 vine, eh ? Well, I do — I mean to inter- 
 fere with my son, to that extent at least — 
 you can do what you like. But as you're 
 a person of prodigious influence, and 
 strong will, and a great deal of character, 
 and all that," Mr. Copperhead broke out 
 with a rude laugh. " I'm afraid of you, 
 I am — quite afraid." 
 
 Fortunately, just at this moment, his 
 brougham came round, and the great man 
 finished his coffee at a gulp, and got up. 
 " You look out for the baronet's daugh- 
 ters, then — " he said, " and see all's 
 ready for this ball of yours ; while I go 
 and work to pay the bills, that's my share. 
 You do the ornamental, and I do the useful, 
 ha, ha ! I'll keep up my share." 
 
 It was astonishing what a difference 
 came upon the room the moment he dis- 
 appeared. Somehow it had been out of 
 harmony. His voice, his look, his heavy 
 person, even his whiskers, had been out 
 of character. Now the air seemed to 
 flutter after the closing of the door like
 
 42 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 water into which something offensive has 
 sunk, and when the ripples of movement 
 were over the large handsome room had 
 toned down into perfect accord with its 
 remaining inhabitants. Mrs. Copper- 
 head's eyes were rather red — not with tears, 
 but with the inclination to shed tears, 
 which she carefully restrained in her son's 
 presence. He still continued to eat steadily 
 — he had an admirable appetite. But 
 when he had finished everything on his 
 plate, he looked up and said, " I hope 
 you don't mind, mamma ; I don't suppose 
 you do ; bat I don't like the way my 
 father speaks to you." 
 
 " Oh, my dear !" cried the mother, with 
 an affected little smile, " why should I 
 mind ? I ought to know by this time that 
 it's only your papa's way." 
 
 " I suppose so — but I don't like it," said 
 the young man, decisively. He did not 
 notice, however, as, after second thoughts 
 he returned to the game-pie, that his 
 mother's eyes were redder than ever.
 
 43 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 MR. COPPERHEAD'S BALL. 
 
 rjlHIS ball was an event, not only in Mr. 
 -*- Copperhead's household, but even in 
 the connection itself, to which the idea of 
 balls, as given by leading members of the 
 flock, was somewhat novel. Not that the 
 young people were debarred from that 
 amusement, but it was generally attained 
 in a more or less accidental manner, and 
 few professing Christians connected with 
 the management of the chapel, had 
 gone the length of giviug such an enter- 
 tainment openly and with design. Mr. 
 Copperhead, however, was in a position 
 to triumph over all such prejudices. He
 
 44 PHOEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 was so rich that any community would 
 have felt it ought to extend a certain 
 measure of indulgence to such a man. 
 Very wealthy persons are like spoilt child- 
 ren, their caprices are allowed to be 
 natural, and even when we are angry 
 with them we excuse the vagaries to 
 which money has a right. This feeling of 
 indulgence goes a very great way, especi- 
 ally among the classes engaged in money- 
 making, who generally recognise a man's 
 right to spend, and feel the sweetness of 
 spending more acutely than the hereditary 
 possessors of wealth. I do not believe that 
 his superior knowledge of the best ways 
 of using money profitably ever hinders a 
 money-making man from lavish expendi- 
 ture ; but it gives him a double zest in 
 spending, and it makes him, generally, 
 charitable towards the extravagances of 
 persons still richer than himself. A ball, 
 there was no doubt, was a worldly-minded 
 entertainment, but still, the chapel reflected, 
 it is almost impossible not to be a little
 
 MR. COPPERHEAD'S BALL. 45 
 
 worldly-minded when you possess such 
 a great share of the world's goods, and 
 that, of course, it could not be for him- 
 self that Mr. Copperhead was doing this, 
 but for his son. His son, these amiable 
 casuists proceeded, was being brought up 
 to fill a great position, and no doubt 
 society did exact something, and as Mr. 
 Copperhead had asked all the chief chapel 
 people, his ball was looked upon with 
 very indulgent eyes. The fact that the 
 minister and his family were going, stag- 
 gered some of the more particular mem- 
 bers a little, but Mr. Beecham took high 
 ground on the subject and silenced the 
 flock. " The fact that a minister of religion 
 is one of the first persons invited, is suffi- 
 cient proof of the way our friend means to 
 manage everything," said the pastor. 
 " Depend upon it, it would be good for 
 the social relations of the country if your 
 pastors and teachers were always present. 
 It gives at once a character to all the 
 proceedings." This, like every other
 
 46 PHOEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 lofty assertion, stilled the multitude. 
 Some of the elder ladies, indeed, groaned 
 to hear, even at the prayer-meetings, a 
 whisper between the girls about this ball 
 and what they were going to wear ; but 
 still it was Christmas, and all the news- 
 papers, and a good deal of the light 
 literature which is especially current at 
 that season, persistently represented all the 
 world as in a state of imbecile joviality, 
 and thus, for the moment, every objec- 
 tion was put down. 
 
 To nobody, however, was the question, 
 what to wear, more interesting than to 
 Phoebe, junior, who was a very well- 
 instructed young woman, and even on 
 the point of dress had theories of her own. 
 Phoebe had, as her parents were happy to 
 think, had every advantage in her educa- 
 tion. She had possessed a German gover- 
 ness all to herself, by which means, even 
 Mr. Beecham himself supposed, a certain 
 amount of that philosophy which Ger- 
 mans communicate by their very touch,
 
 MR. COPPERHEAD'S BALL. 47 
 
 must have got into her, besides her music 
 and the language which was her primary 
 study. And she had attended lectures at 
 the ladies college close by, and heard a 
 great many eminent men on a great many 
 different subjects. She had read, too, a 
 great deal. She was very well got up in 
 the subject of education for women, and 
 lamented often and pathetically the diffi- 
 culty they lay under of acquiring the highest 
 instruction; but at the same time she pa- 
 tronized Mr. Ruskin's theory that dancing, 
 drawing, and cooking, were three of the 
 higher arts which ought to be studied by 
 girls. It is not necessary for me to account 
 for the discrepancies between those two 
 systems, in the first place because I can- 
 not, and in the second place, because 
 there is in the mind of the age some in- 
 effable way of harmonizing them which 
 makes their conjunction common. Phoebe 
 was restrained from carrying out either to 
 its full extent. She was not allowed to 
 go in for the Cambridge examinations be-
 
 48 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 cause Mr. Beecham felt the connection 
 might think it strange to see his daugh- 
 ter's name in the papers, and, probably, 
 would imagine he meant to make a school- 
 mistress of her, which he thanked Provi- 
 dence he had no need to do. And she 
 was not allowed to educate herself in the 
 department of cooking, to which Mrs. 
 Beecham objected, saying likewise, thank 
 Heaven, they had no need of such mess- 
 iugs ; that she did not wish her daughter 
 to make a slave of herself, and that Cook 
 would not put up with it. Between these 
 two limits Phoebe's noble ambition was 
 confined, which was a " trial" to her. 
 But she did what she could, bating neither 
 heart nor hope. She read Virgil at least, 
 if not Sophocles, and she danced and 
 dressed though she was not allowed to 
 cook. 
 
 As she took the matter in this 
 serious way, it will be understood that the 
 question of dress was not a mere frivolity 
 with her. A week before the ball she 
 stood in front of the large glass in her
 
 ME. COPPERHEAD'S BALL. 49 
 
 mother's room, contemplating herself, 
 not with that satisfaction which it is 
 generally supposed a pretty young woman 
 has in contemplating her own image. She 
 was decidedly a pretty young woman. 
 She had a great deal of the hair of the 
 period, nature in her case, as (curiously, 
 yet very truly) in so many others, having 
 lent herself to the prevailing fashion. 
 How it comes about I cannot tell, but it is 
 certain that there does exist at this present 
 moment, a proportion of golden-haired 
 girls which very much exceeds the number 
 we used to see when golden hair had not 
 become fashionable — a freak of nature 
 which is altogether independent of dyes 
 and auriferous fluids, and which probably 
 has influenced fashion unawares. To be sure 
 the pomades of twenty years ago are, heaven 
 be praised ! unknown to this generation, 
 and washing also has become the fashion, 
 which accounts for something. Anyhow, 
 Phoebe, junior, possessed in perfection, 
 the hair of the period. She had, too, the 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 complexion which goes naturally with 
 those sunny locks — a warm pink and 
 white, which, had the boundaries between 
 the pink and the white been a little more 
 distinct, would have approached perfec- 
 tion too. This was what she was think- 
 ing when she looked at herself in her 
 mother's great glass. Mrs. Beecham stood 
 behind her, more full-blown and more 
 highly-coloured than she, but very evi- 
 dently the rose to which this bud would 
 come in time. Phoebe looked at her own 
 reflection, and then at her mother's, and 
 sighed such a profound sigh as only lungs 
 in the most excellent condition could pro- 
 duce. 
 
 " Mamma," she said, with an accent of 
 despair, " I am too pink, a great deal too 
 pink ! What am I to do ?" 
 
 " Nonsense, my pet," said Mrs. Beecham ; 
 "you have a lovely complexion;" and she 
 threw a quantity of green ribbons which 
 lay by over her child's hair and shoulders. 
 A cloud crossed the blooming countenance 
 of Phoebe, junior. She disembarrassed her-
 
 MR. COPPERHEAD'S BALL. 51 
 
 self of the ribbons with another sigh. 
 
 " Dear mamma," she said, " I wish you 
 would let me read with you now and then, 
 about the theory of colours, for instance. 
 Green is the complementary of red. If 
 you want to bring out my pink and make 
 it more conspicuous than ever, of course 
 you will put me in a green dress. No, 
 mamma, dear, not that — I should look a 
 fright ; and though I daresay it does not 
 matter much, I object to looking a fright. 
 Women are, I suppose, more ornamental 
 than men, or, at least, everybody says so ; 
 and in that case it is our duty to keep it 
 up." 
 
 " You are a funny girl, with your 
 theories of colour," said Mrs. Beecham. 
 " In my time, fair girls wore greens and 
 blues, and dark girls wore reds and yellows. 
 It was quite simple. Have a white tar- 
 latan, then; every girl looks well in that." 
 
 " You don't see, mamma," said Phoebe, 
 
 softly, suppressing in the most admirable 
 
 manner the delicate trouble of not being 
 
 e 2 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS
 
 52 PH(EBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 understood, " that a thing every girl looks 
 well in, is just the sort of thing that no 
 girl looks very well in. White shows no 
 invention. Tt is as if one took no trouble 
 about one's dress." 
 
 " And neither one ought, Phoebe," said 
 her mother. " That is very true. It is 
 sinful to waste time thinking of colours 
 and ribbons, when we might be occupied 
 about much more important matters." 
 
 " That is not my opinion at all," said 
 Phoebe. " I should like people to thick 
 I had taken a great deal of trouble. Think 
 of all the trouble that has to be taken to 
 get up this ball !" 
 
 " I fear so, indeed ; and a great deal of 
 expense," said Mrs. Beecham, shaking her 
 head. " Yes, when one comes to think of 
 that. But then, you see, wealth has its 
 duties. I don't defend Mr. Copperhead — " 
 
 " I don't think he wants to be defended, 
 mamma. I think it is all nonsense about 
 wasting time. What I incline to, if you 
 won't be shocked, is black."
 
 MR. COPPERHEAD'S BALL. 53 
 
 " Black I" The suggestion took away 
 Mrs. Beeckam's breath. " As if you were 
 fifty ! Why, I don't consider myself old 
 enough for black." 
 
 " It is a pity," said Phoebe, with a 
 glance at her mother's full colours; but 
 that was really of so much less import- 
 ance. " Black would throw me up," she 
 added seriously, turning to the glass. " It 
 would take off this pink look. I don't 
 mind it in the cheeks, but I am pink all 
 over ; my white is pink. Black would be 
 a great deal the best for both of us. It 
 would tone us down," said Phoebe, de- 
 cisively, " and it would throw us up." 
 
 " But for you, a girl under twenty, my 
 dear--" 
 
 " Mamma, what does it matter ? The 
 question is, am I to look my best ? which 
 I think is my duty to you and to Provi- 
 dence; or am I just," said Phoebe, with 
 indignation, "to look a little insipidity — a 
 creature with no character — a little girl 
 like everybody else ?"
 
 54 PHOEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 The consequence of this solemn appeal 
 was that both the Phcebes went to Mr. 
 Copperhead's ball in black; the elder in 
 velvet, with Honiton lace (point, which 
 Phoebe, with her artistic instincts, would 
 have much preferred, being unattainable) ; 
 the younger in tulle, flounced to distrac- 
 tion, and largely relieved with blue. And 
 the consequence of this toilette, and of the 
 fact that Phoebe did her duty by her 
 parents and by Providence, and looked 
 her very best, was that Clarence Copper- 
 head fell a hopeless victim to her fascina- 
 tions, and scarcely could be induced to 
 leave her side all night. The ball was 
 aboufc as remarkable a ball as could have 
 been seen in London. The son of the 
 house had contemplated with absolute de- 
 spair the list of invitations. He had depre- 
 cated the entertainment altogether. He 
 had said, " We know nobody," with a 
 despairing impertinence which called forth 
 one of his father's roars of laughter. And 
 though Mr. Copperhead had done all he
 
 ME. COPPERHEAD'S BALL. 55 
 
 could to assume the position of that typical 
 Paterfamilias who is condemned to pay 
 for those pleasures of his family which are 
 no pleasure to him, yet common-sense was 
 too much for him, and everybody felt that 
 he was in reality the giver and enjoyer 
 of the entertainment. It was Mr., not 
 Mrs. Copperhead's ball. It was the first 
 of the kind which had ever taken place in 
 his house ; the beginning of a new chapter 
 in his social existence. Up to this moment 
 he had not shown any signs of being 
 smitten with that craze for " Society," 
 which so often and so sorely affects the 
 millionaire. He had contented himself 
 hitherto with heavy and showy dinners, 
 costing Heaven knows how much a head 
 (Mr. Copperhead knew, and swelled visibly 
 in pride and pleasure as the cost in- 
 creased), which he consumed in company 
 with twenty people or so of kindred tastes 
 to himself, who appreciated the cost and 
 understood his feeliugs. On such people, 
 however, his Dresden china was thrown
 
 56 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 away. Joe and Mrs. Joe were much more 
 in their way than the elegant University 
 man and the well-bred mother, who was 
 " a poor little dowdy," they all said. 
 Therefore the fact had been forced upon Mr. 
 Copperhead that his circle, must be widened 
 and advanced, if his crowning glories 
 were to be appreciated as they deserved. 
 
 The hunger of wealth for that something 
 above wealth which the bewildered rich man 
 only discovers the existence of when he 
 has struggled to the highest pinnacle of ad- 
 vancement in his own way, began to seize 
 this wealthy neophyte. To be sure, in 
 this first essay, the company which he 
 assembled in his fine rooms in Portland 
 Place, to see all his fine things and cele- 
 brate his glory, was not a fine company, 
 but they afforded more gratification to Mr. 
 Copperhead than if they had been ever so 
 fine. They were people of his own class, 
 his old friends, invited to be dazzled, 
 though standing out to the utmost of 
 their power, and refusing, so far as in 
 them lay, to admit how much dazzled they
 
 MR. COPPERHEAD'S BALL. 57 
 
 were. Tt was a more reasonable sort of 
 vanity than the commoner kind, which aims 
 at displaying its riches to great personages, 
 people who are not dazzled by any extent 
 of grandeur, and in whose bosoms no 
 jealousy is excited towards the giver of the 
 feast. Mr. Copperhead's friends had much 
 more lively feelings ; they walked about 
 through the great rooms, with their wives 
 on their arms, in a state of semi-defiance, 
 expressing no admiration, saying to each 
 other, " This must have cost Copperhead 
 a pretty penny," as they met in doorways ; 
 while the ladies put their flowery and 
 jewelled heads together and whispered, 
 " Did you ever see such extravagance ? 
 And what a dowdy she is with it all !" 
 This was the under-current of sentiment 
 which flowed strong in all the passages, 
 and down the rapids of the great stair- 
 case; a stream of vigorous human feeling, 
 the existence of which was as deeply 
 gratifying to the entertainer as the sweetest 
 flattery. The lords and the ladies who
 
 58 PHCEBE, JUMOK. 
 
 might have been tempted to his great 
 house would not have had a thought to 
 spare for Mr. Copperhead ; but the un- 
 willing applause of his own class afforded 
 him a true triumph. 
 
 Amid this throng of people, however, 
 there could be little doubt that the one 
 young lady who attracted his son was the 
 least eligible person there, being no other 
 than Phoebe Beecham, the pastor's daugh- 
 ter. Almost the only other utterly in- 
 eligible girl was a pale little maiden who 
 accompanied Sir Robert Dorset and his 
 daughters, and who was supposed to be 
 either their governess or their humble 
 companion. The Dorsets were the only 
 people who had any pretensions to belong, 
 to " society," in all those crowded rooms. 
 They were distantly related to Mrs, Cop- 
 perhead, and had been, she gratefully 
 thought, kind to her in her youth, and 
 they had no particular objection to be 
 kind to her now that she was rich, though 
 the Baronet, as Mr. Copperhead always
 
 MR. COPPERHEAD'S BALL. 59 
 
 called him, winced at so rampant a speci- 
 men of wealth, and " the girls," did not 
 see what good it was to keep up relations 
 with a distant cousin, who though so 
 prodigiously rich was of no possible use* 
 and could neither make parties for them, 
 nor chaperon them to the houses of the 
 great. When they had received her pre- 
 sent invitation, they had accepted it with 
 surprise and hesitation. Chance only had 
 brought them to London at that time of 
 the year, the most curious time surely 
 to choose for a ball, but convenient enough 
 as affording a little amusement at a season 
 when little amusement was ordinarily to 
 be had. Sir Robert had consented to go, as 
 a man with no occupation elsewhere might 
 consent to go to the Cannibal Islands, to 
 see how the the savages comported them- 
 selves. And little Ursula May, another 
 poor relative on the other side of the 
 house, whom they had charitably brought 
 up to town with them, might go too, they 
 decided, to such a gathering. There was
 
 60 PHCEBE, JUNIOE. 
 
 no Lady Dorset, and the girls were " girls," 
 only by courtesy, having passed the age 
 to which that title refers. Such good looks 
 as they had were faded, and they were 
 indifferently dressed. This last circum- 
 stance arose partly from the fact that they 
 never dressed very well, and partly be- 
 cause they did not think it necessary, to 
 put themselves to much trouble for poor 
 Mrs. Copperhead's ball. Their little 
 companion, Ursula, was in a white frock, 
 the sort of dress which Phoebe had re- 
 belled against. She was all white and had 
 never been to a ball before. This little 
 party, which represented the aristocracy at 
 the Copperheads' ball, went to the enter- 
 tainment with a little expectation in their 
 minds : What sort of people would be 
 there? Would they be "frights?" They 
 were not likely to be interesting in any 
 other way, the Miss Dorsets knew ; but to 
 little Ursula a ball was a ball, and meant 
 delight and glory she was aware, though 
 she did not quite know how. The expec-
 
 MR. COPPERHEAD'S BALL. 61 
 
 tations of the party, however, were strangely 
 disappointed. Instead of beiDg " a set of 
 frights," Mrs. Copperhead's guests were 
 found to be resplendent in toilette. Never, 
 even under a ducal roof, had these ladies 
 found themselves in such a gorgeous as- 
 sembly, and never before, perhaps, even 
 at the Duchess's grandest receptions, had 
 they been unable to discover a single face 
 they knew. Sir Robert was even more 
 appalled by this discovery than his daugh- 
 ters were. He put up his glass and peered 
 more and more wistfully into the crowd. 
 " Don't know a soul," he repeated at inter- 
 vals. Poor Sir Robert ! he had not thought 
 it possible that such an event could happen 
 to him within the four seas. Accordingly the 
 Dorsets clung, -somewhat scared, to Mrs. 
 Copperhead's side, and Ursula along with 
 them, who looked at the crowd still more 
 wistfully than Sir Robert did, and thought 
 how nice it would be to know somebody. 
 Unfortunately the Miss Dorsets were not 
 attractive in personal appearance. Clar-
 
 62 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 ence Copperhead, though he was not 
 indifferent to a baronet, was yet not suffi- 
 ciently devoted to the aristocracy to do 
 more than dance once, as was his bounden 
 duty, with each of the sisters. " It seems 
 so strange not to know anyone," these 
 ladies said/ (i Isn't it?" said Clarence. 
 " I don't know a soul." But then he went 
 off and danced with Phoebe Beecham, and 
 the Miss Dorsets stood by Mrs. Copper- 
 head, almost concealing behind them the 
 slight little snow-white figure of little 
 Ursula May. 
 
 Clarence was a very well-behaved young 
 man on the whole. He knew his duty 
 and did it with a steady industry, working 
 off his dances in the spirit of his navvy 
 forefather. But he returned between each 
 duty dance to the young lady in black, 
 who was always distinguishable among so 
 many young ladies in white, and pink, and 
 green, and blue. The Miss Dorsets and 
 Ursula looked with interest and something 
 like envy at that young lady in black.
 
 MR. COPPERHEAD'S BALL. 63 
 
 She had so many partners that she 
 scarcely knew how to manage them all, 
 and the son of the house returned to her 
 side with a pertinacity that could not pass 
 unremarked. " Why should one girl have 
 so much and another girl so little ?" 
 Ursula said to herself; but, to be sure, 
 she knew nobody, and the young lady in 
 black knew everybody. On the whole, 
 however, it became evident to Ursula 
 that a ball was not always a scene of un- 
 mixed delight. 
 
 " It is very kind of you to remember 
 what old friends we are," said Phoebe. 
 " But, Mr. Clarence, don't be more good 
 to me than you ought to be. I see your 
 mother looking for you, and Mr. Copper- 
 head might not like it. Another time, 
 perhaps, we shall be able to talk of old 
 days." 
 
 " There is no time like the present," 
 said the young man, who liked his own 
 way. I do not mean to say that it was 
 right of Phoebe to dance with him, espe-
 
 64 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 cially dances she had promised to other 
 people. But he was the personage of the 
 evening, and that is a great temptation. 
 Mr. Copperhead himself came up to them 
 more than once, with meaning in his eyes. 
 
 " Don't be too entertaining, Miss Phoebe, 
 he said ; for he saw no reason why he 
 should not speak plainly in his own house, 
 especially to the minister's daughter. 
 " Don't be too entertaining. This is 
 Clarence's ball, and he ought to be civil 
 to other people too." 
 
 " Oh, please go away !" cried Phoebe, 
 after this admonition. But Clarence was 
 sullen, and stood his ground. 
 
 " We are going to have our waltz out," 
 he said. "It is not my ball a bit — let 
 him entertain his people himself. How 
 should 1 know such a set of guys ? I 
 know nobody but you and the Dorset girls, 
 who are in society. Parents are a mis- 
 take," said the young man, half rebellious, 
 half sullen, " they never understand. 
 Perhaps you don't feel that, but I should
 
 ME. COPPEEHEAD'S BALL. 65 
 
 think girls must see it sometimes as well 
 as mem" 
 
 " Girls don't use such strong expres- 
 sions," said Phoebe, smiling, as they flew off 
 in the uncompleted waltz. She danced very 
 well, better than most of the ladies pre- 
 sent, and that was the reason Clarence 
 assigned to his mother for his preference 
 of her. But when Mr. Copperhead saw 
 that his remonstrance was unheeded b}' 
 the young people, he went up to Mrs. 
 Beecham, with a rich man's noble frank- 
 ness and courage. " I am delighted to 
 see you here, ma'am, and I hope you have 
 remarked how well Miss Phoebe is en- 
 tertaining my boy. Do you see them 
 dancing ? She's been away from you a 
 long time, Mrs. Beecham, as girls 'will 
 when they get hold of somebody that 
 pleases them. Shouldn't you like me to go 
 and fetch her back?" Mrs. Beecham, with 
 cheeks which were very full blown indeed, 
 and required a great deal of fanning, called 
 back her child to her side at the end of 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 that dance. She scolded Phoebe behind 
 her fan, and recalled her to a sense of 
 duty. "A pastor's daughter has to be 
 doubly particular," she said, " what if 
 your poor papa was to get into trouble 
 through your thoughtlessness ?" 
 
 "I was not thoughtless, mamma; for- 
 give me for answering back ;" said Phoebe, 
 very meekly; and she showed no signs of 
 sulkiness, though Clarence was carried 
 off and kept from approaching her again. 
 
 Unfortunately, however, when Clarence 
 was removed from Phoebe, he fell into 
 still greater peril. The eldest Miss Dorset 
 and her mother, both of them with equally 
 benevolent intentions introduced him 
 simultaneously to Ursula May. " The poor 
 little girl has not danced once," Mrs. Cop- 
 perhead, who had recollections of stand- 
 ing by herself for a whole evening un- 
 noticed, whispered in his ear, and Miss 
 Dorset spoke to him still more plainly. 
 " We brought her," she said, " but I 
 cannot get her partners, for I don't know
 
 MK. COPPERHEAD'S BALL. 67 
 
 anybody." And what could Clarence do 
 but offer himself ? And Ursula, too, was 
 a good dancer, and very pretty — far 
 prettier than Phoebe. 
 
 " Confound him ! there he is now for 
 ever with that girl in white," said his 
 father to himself, with great rage. Dozens 
 of good partners in pink and blue were 
 going about the room. What did the boy 
 mean by bestowing himself upon the two 
 poor ones, the black and the white. This 
 disturbed Mr. Copperhead's enjoyment, as 
 he stood in the doorway of the ball-room, 
 looking round upon all the splendour that 
 was his, and feeling disposed, like Nebu- 
 chadnezzar, to call upon everybody to 
 come and worship him. He expanded 
 and swelled out with pride and compla- 
 cency, as he looked round upon his own 
 greatness, and perceived the effect made 
 upon the beholders. When that effect 
 did not seem sufficiently deep, he called 
 here and there upon a lingerer for ap- 
 plause. " That's considered a very fine 
 
 f 2
 
 68 PHCEJ3E, JUNIOR. 
 
 Turner," he said, taking one of them into 
 a smaller room. " Come along here, you 
 know about that sort of thing — I don't. 
 I should be ashamed to tell you how much 
 I gave for it; all that money hanging 
 there useless, bringing in nothing ! But 
 when I do buy anything I like it to be the 
 very best that is to be had." 
 
 " I'd as soon have a good chromo," 
 said the person addressed ; " which costs a 
 matter of a five pound note, and enough 
 too, to hang up against a wall. But you 
 can afford it, Copperhead. You've the 
 best right of any man I know to be a 
 fool if you like." 
 
 The great man laughed, but he scarcely 
 liked the compliment. " I am a fool if 
 you like," he said, "the biggest fool 
 going. I like a thing that costs a deal, 
 and is of no use. That's what I call 
 luxury. My boy, Clarence, and my big 
 picture, they're dear ; but I can afford 
 'em, if they were double the price." 
 
 " If I were you," said his friend, " I
 
 MR. COPPERHEAD'S BALL. 69 
 
 wouldn't hang my picture in this little bit 
 of a hole, nor let my boy waste his time 
 with all the riff-raff in the room. There's 
 Smith's girl and Robinson's niece, both 
 of them worth a cool hundred thousand ; 
 and you leave him to flourish about all 
 over the place with a chit in a white frock, 
 and another in a black one. I call that 
 waste, not luxury, for my part." 
 
 " I don't want to sell either the boy or 
 the picture," said the rich man, with a 
 laugh. But nevertheless he was annoyed 
 that his son should be such an ass. Miss 
 Smith and Miss Robinson were as fine as 
 their milliners could make them. The 
 first of these ladies had an emerald locket 
 almost as big as a warming-pan, and Miss 
 Robinson's pearls were a little fortune in 
 themselves; but the chosen objects of that 
 young idiot's attentions wore nothing but 
 trumpery twopenny-halfpenny trinkets, 
 and gowns which had been made at home 
 for all Mr. Copperhead knew. Confound 
 him ! the father breathed hotly to himself.
 
 70 PHOEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 Thus it will be seen that unmixed pleasure 
 is not to be had in this world, even in the 
 midst of envious friends and the most 
 splendid entertainment which money could 
 supply.
 
 71 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A COUNTRY PARTY. 
 
 '■ TTERY funny, now," said Sir Robert. 
 
 * ({ I don't know that such a thing 
 ever happened to me before. Give you 
 my word for it, I didn't know a single 
 soul, not one ; and there must have been 
 a couple of hundred or so there. Jove ! I 
 never thought there were as many people 
 in England that I didn't know." 
 
 " How could you know Mr. Copper- 
 head's friends ?" said Sophy Dorset. 
 " What I wonder is, that she should 
 have asked us. Not but that it was 
 amusing enough, once in a way, just to 
 see how such people look."
 
 72 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 " They looked very much like other 
 people, my dear. Finer, though. I 
 haven't seen so many jewels at an evening 
 party for ages. Very much like other 
 people. Fatter, perhaps, the men, but not 
 the women. I notice," said Sir Robert, 
 who himself was spare, " that City men 
 generally have a tendency to fat." 
 
 " They are so rich," said Miss Dorset, 
 with gentle disgust. 
 
 She was the quiet one, never saying 
 much. Sophy, who was lively, conducted 
 •e conversation. They were all seated at 
 breakfast, later than usual, on the morning 
 after the Copperheads' ball. It was a hazy 
 morning, and the party were seated in a 
 large sitting-room in the " very central " 
 locality of Suffolk Street, looking down 
 that straight little street upon the stream 
 of carriages and omnibuses in the foggy 
 i stance. It was not for pleasure that 
 this country party had come to London. 
 Sir Robert's second son, who was in India, 
 had sent his eldest children home to the
 
 A COUNTRY PABTY. 
 
 73 
 
 care of his father and sisters. They were 
 expected at Portsmouth daily, and the 
 aunts, somewhat excited by the prospect 
 of their charge, had insisted upon coming 
 to town to receive them. As for Ursula 
 May, who was a poor relation on the late 
 Lady Dorset's side, as Mrs. Copperhead 
 had been a poor relation on Sir Robert's, 
 London at any season was a wonder and 
 excitement to her, and she could not suffi- 
 ciently thank the kind relations who had 
 given her this holiday in her humdrum 
 life. She was the daughter of a poor 
 clergyman in the little town of Oarlingford, 
 a widower with a large family. Ursula 
 was the eldest daughter, with the duties 
 of a mother on her much burdened hands ; 
 and she had no special inclination towards 
 these duties, so that a week's escape from 
 them was a relief to her at any time. And 
 a ball ! But the ball had not been so 
 beatific as Ursula hoped. In her dark 
 blue serge dress, close up to the throat 
 and down to the wrists, she did not look
 
 74 PH(EBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 so pale as she bad done in her snow-white 
 garments on the previous night ; but she 
 was at the best of times a shadowy little 
 person, with soft, dark brown hair, dark 
 brown eyes, and no more colour than the 
 faintest of wild rose tints ; but the youth- 
 fulness, and softness, and roundness of the 
 girl showed to full advantage beside the 
 more angular development of the Miss 
 Dorsets, who were tall, and had lost the 
 first smooth curves of youth. To Ursula, 
 not yet twenty, these ladies looked very 
 mature, almost aged, being one of them 
 ten, and the other eight years older than 
 herself. She looked up to them with great 
 respect; but she felt, all the same — how 
 could she help it? — that in some things, 
 though the Miss Dorsets were her supe- 
 riors, it was best to be Ursula May. 
 
 " Poor Clara !" said Sir Robert. " She 
 was always a frightened creature. When 
 I recollect her, a poor little governess, 
 keeping behind backs at the nursery parties 
 — and to see her in all her splendour now !"
 
 A COUNTRY PARTY. 75 
 
 " She would keep behind backs still, if 
 she could," said Miss Dorset. 
 
 " Think of that, Ursula," cried Sophy ; 
 " there is an example for you. She was a 
 great deal worse off than you are ; and to 
 see her now, as papa says ! You may have 
 a house in Portland Place too, and ask us 
 to balls, and wear diamonds. Think of 
 that ! Though last night you looked as 
 frightened as she." 
 
 " Don't put such demoralizing ideas into 
 the child's head. How it is that girls are 
 not ruined," said Miss Dorset, shaking her 
 head, " ruined ! by such examples, I can- 
 not tell ? They must have stronger heads 
 than we think. As poor as Cinderella 
 one day, and the next as rich as the 
 Queen — without any merit of theirs, all 
 because some chance man happens to take 
 a fancy to them." 
 
 " Quite right," said Sir Robert ; " quite 
 right, my dear. It is the natural course 
 of affairs." 
 
 Miss Dorset shook her head. She went
 
 76 PH(EBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 on shaking her head as she poured out the 
 tea. She was not given to eloquence, but 
 the subject inspired her. 
 
 " Don't think of it, Ursula; it is not the 
 sort of thing that good girls ought to 
 think of," and the elder sister made signs 
 to Sophy, who was reckless, and did not 
 mind the moral effect of the suggestion. 
 
 " Poor Mrs. Copperhead ! I shall never 
 have a house in Portland Place, nor any 
 diamonds, except Aunt Mary's old brooch. 
 I shall live and die an old maid, and 
 nobody will waste a thought upon me," 
 said Sophy, who made this prophecy at 
 her ease, not expecting it to come true ; 
 M but I don't envy poor Clara, and if you 
 marry such a man as Mr. Copperhead, 
 though I shall admire you very much, 
 Ursula, I shan't envy you." 
 
 " Is young Mr. Copperhead as bad as 
 his father ?" said Ursula, simply. 
 
 She was so far from thinking what 
 meaning could be attached to her words, 
 that she stopped and looked, wondering'
 
 A COUNTRY PARTY. 77 
 
 from one to another when they laughed. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha !" said Sir Robert ; " not 
 so bad, either !" 
 
 Poor Ursula was extremely serious. She 
 turned with relief to Miss Dorset, who was 
 serious too. 
 
 " My dear, we don't know much about 
 Clarence; he is a heavy young man. I 
 don't think he is attractive. Have you 
 had a letter from the Parsonage this morn- 
 ing ?" said Anne Dorset, with a very grave 
 face ; and as it turned out that Ursula had 
 a letter, Miss Dorset immediately plunged 
 into discussion of it. The girl did not 
 understand why the simple little epistle 
 should be so interesting, nor did she per- 
 ceive yet what the laughter was about. 
 To tell the truth, Ursula, who was not 
 clever, had thought young Mr. Copper- 
 head very nice. He had asked her to 
 dance when nobody else did ; he had 
 talked to her as much as he could have 
 talked to Sophy Dorset herself. He had 
 rehabilitated her in her own eyes after the
 
 78 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 first disappointment and failure of the 
 evening, and she was prepared to think, 
 whatever might be said about the father, 
 that the son was "very kind" and very 
 agreeable. Why should they laugh ? 
 Ursula concluded that there must be 
 some private joke of their own about 
 Clarence (what a pretty, interesting, supe- 
 rior name Clarence was !) which she could 
 not be permitted to know. 
 
 " If you talk like that," said Anne 
 Dorset to Sophy, " you will set her little 
 head afloat about good matches, and spoil 
 her too." 
 
 ' ' And a very good thing," said Sophy. 
 " If you had put the idea into my head, I 
 should not be Sophy Dorset now. Why 
 shouldn't she think of a good match ? 
 Can she live there for ever in that dreadful 
 Parsonage, among all those children whom 
 she does not know how to manage ? Don't 
 be absurd, Anne; except an elder daughter 
 like you here and there, you know, girls 
 must marry if they are to be of any con-
 
 A COUNTRY PARTY. 79 
 
 sequence in the world. Let them get it 
 into their heads; we can't change what is 
 the course of nature, as papa says." 
 " Oh, Sophy ! it is so unwomanly." 
 " Never mind ; when a man chuckles 
 and jeers at me because I am unmarried, 
 I think it is unmanly ; but they all do it, 
 and no one finds any fault." 
 
 " Not all, surely ; not near all" 
 " Don't they ? Not to our faces, 
 perhaps ; but whenever they write, when- 
 ever they speak in public. When men are 
 so mean, why should we train girls up to 
 unnatural high-mindedness ? Why, that 
 is the sort of girl who ought to make a 
 good marriage j to ' catch ' somebody, or 
 have somebody ' hooked ' for her. She 
 is pretty, and soft, and not very wise. 
 I am doing the very best thing in the 
 world for her, when I laugh at love and all 
 that nonsense, and put a good match into 
 her mind." 
 
 Miss Dorset turned away with a sigh, 
 and shook her head. It was all she could
 
 80 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 do. To encounter Sophy in argument was 
 beyond her power, and if it had not been 
 beyond her power, what would have been 
 the good of it ? Sophy had a story which, 
 unfortunr^ly, most people knew. She 
 had be£a romantic, and she had been dis- 
 app^j ved. Five or six years before, she 
 had been engaged to a clergyman, who, 
 finding that the good living he was wait- 
 ing for in order to marry was not likely 
 to come through Sir Robert's influence, 
 intimated to his betrothed his serious 
 doubt whether they were likely to be 
 happy together, and broke off the engage- 
 ment. He married somebody else in six 
 months, and Sophy was left to bear the 
 shame as she might. To be sure, a great 
 many people were highly indignant with 
 him at the moment ; his sin, however, was 
 forgotten long ago, so far as he was con- 
 cerned ; but nobody forgot that Sophy 
 had been jilted, and she did not forget it 
 herself, which was worse. Therefore Miss 
 Dorset attempted no argument with her
 
 A COUNTRY PARTY. 81 
 
 sister. She shook her gentle head, and 
 said nothing. Anne was the elder sister 
 born, the maiden-mother, who is a clearly 
 defined type of humanity, though rare, 
 perhaps, like all the finer sor She 
 
 resolved in her own mind to take p 'ivate 
 means for the fortification and preserv m 
 of Ursula, whose position, as elder sister 
 of a motherless family, interested her 
 specially as being like her own ; but Anne 
 owned within herself that she had never 
 been so young as little Ursula May. 
 
 Ursula, for her part, thought very little 
 about the question which had thus moved 
 her cousins. She thought Mr. Clarence 
 Copperhead was very nice, and that if she 
 had but known as many people, and had 
 as many partners as that young ]ady in 
 black, she would have enjoyed the ball 
 very much. After all, now that it was 
 over, she felt that she had enjoyed it. 
 Three dances were a great deal better than 
 none at all, and to have that pretty white 
 frock given to her by Sir Robert was no 
 
 vol. i. G
 
 82 PHOEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 small matter. Besides, for in this as in 
 other things the uses of adversity are 
 sometimes sweet, the pretty dress, which 
 no doubt would have been torn and 
 crumpled had she danced much, was 
 almost quite fresh now, and would do 
 very well at Carlingford if there should 
 be any balls there — events which hap- 
 pened occasionally, though Ursula had 
 never been lucky enough to go to any of 
 them. And Cousin Sophy had given her 
 a set of Venetian beads and Cousin Anne 
 a bracelet. This good fortune was quite 
 enough to fill her mind with satisfaction, 
 and prevent any undue meditation upon 
 good matches or the attentions of Clarence 
 Copperhead. Ursula was as different as 
 possible from Phoebe Beecham. She had 
 no pretensions to be intellectual. She 
 preferred the company even of her very 
 smallest brothers and sisters to the con- 
 versation of her papa, though he was 
 known to be one of the most superior men 
 in the diocese. Even when her elder
 
 A COUNTEY PARTY. 83 
 
 brother Reginald, of whom she was very 
 fond, came home from college, Ursula was 
 more than indifferent to the privileged 
 position of elder sister, by which she was 
 permitted to sit up and assist at the talks 
 which were carried on between him and 
 his father. Reginald was very clever too ; 
 he was making his own way at the 
 university by means of scholarships, the 
 only way in which a son of Mr. May's was 
 likely to get to the university at all, and 
 to hear him talk with his father about 
 Greek poetry and philosophy was a very fine 
 thing indeed ; how Phoebe Beecham, if the 
 chance had been hers, would have prized 
 it ! but Ursula did not enjoy the privi- 
 lege. She preferred a pantomime, or 
 the poorest performance in a theatre, or 
 even Madame Tussaud's exhibition. She 
 preferred even to walk about the gay 
 streets with Miss Dorset's maid, and look 
 into the shop-windows and speculate what 
 was going to be worn next season. Poor 
 little girl ! with such innocent and frivolous 
 
 g 2
 
 84 
 
 tastes, it may be supposed she did not 
 find her position as elder sister and house- 
 keeper a very congenial one. Her father 
 was no more than Incumbent of St. Roque, 
 an old perpetual curacy merged in a dis- 
 trict church, which was a poor appoint- 
 ment for an elderly man with a family ; he 
 was very clever and superior, but not a 
 man who got on, or who did much to help 
 his children to get on; and had Ursula 
 been of the kind of those who suffer and 
 deny themselves by nature, she would have 
 had her hands full, and abundant oppor- 
 tunity afforded her to exercise those facul- 
 ties. But she was not of this frame of 
 mind. She did what she was obliged to 
 do as well as time and opportunity per- 
 mitted ; but she did not throw herself with 
 any enthusiasm into her duties. To keep 
 seven children in good condition and disci- 
 pline in a small house, on a small income, 
 is more, it must be allowed, than most 
 girls of twenty are equal to ; only enthu- 
 siasm and self-devotion could make such a
 
 A COUNTRY PARTY. 85 
 
 task possible, and these qualifications poor 
 little Ursula did not possess. Oh ! how 
 glad she was to get away from it all, from 
 having to think of Janey and Johnny, and 
 Amy and little Robin. She was not 
 anxious about how things might be going 
 on in her absence, as kind Miss Dorset 
 thought she must be. The happiness of 
 escaping was first and foremost in her 
 thoughts.
 
 86 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 SELF-DEVOTION. 
 
 " II TR. COPPERHEAD'S manner is not 
 ^J- pleasant sometimes, that is quite 
 true. We must make allowances, my 
 dear. Great wealth, you know, has its 
 temptations. You can't expect a man 
 with so much money and so many people 
 under him to have the same consideration 
 for other people's feelings. He says to 
 this man go and he goeth, and to that 
 man come and he cometh." 
 
 " That is all very well," said Phoebe ; 
 " but he has no right, that I can think 
 of, to be rude to mamma and me." 
 
 " He was not exactly rude, my dear,"
 
 SELF-DEVOTION. 87 
 
 said Mrs. Beecham. " We must not say 
 he was rude. Clarence ought to have 
 divided his attentions more equally, we 
 must admit, and his father was annoyed — 
 for the moment. I have no doubt he has 
 forgotten all about it long ago, and will 
 be as pleasant as ever next time we meet." 
 
 " I am quite sure of it," said the pastor, 
 " and at the worst it was but his manner — 
 only his manner. In short, at the com- 
 mittee meeting yesterday nothing could 
 have been nicer. He even went out of 
 his way to send, as it were, a kind message 
 to Phoebe. ' I needn't ask if Miss Phoebe 
 enjoyed herself,' he said. Depend upon 
 it, my dear, if there was a temporary 
 annoyance it is both forgotten and for- 
 given, so far as Mr. Copperhead is con- 
 cerned." 
 
 " Forgiven !" Phoebe said to herself ; 
 but she thought it wiser to say nothing 
 audible on the subject. Her father and 
 mother, it was evident, were both dis- 
 posed to extend any amount of toleration
 
 88 PHOEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 to the leading member. It was he who 
 was the best judge as to what he had a 
 right to be annoyed about. The family 
 party were in Mr. Beeckam's study, where 
 the large bust of Mr. Copperhead stood 
 on the mantelpiece, the chief decoration. 
 How could anyone be so wicked as to 
 rebel against the influence of so great 
 a personage ? Phoebe had her own ideas, 
 but she was wise and kept them to herself. 
 
 "And now," said Mrs. Beecham, 
 solemnly, " what is to be done, my dear, 
 about this letter from my good papa ?" 
 
 Phoebe was standing in front of a book- 
 case, apparently looking for a book. She 
 said nothing ; but it was easy to perceive 
 by the erectness of her shoulders, and the 
 slight movement that ran through her, 
 that her attention was fully engaged. 
 
 " Ah, yes indeed, what about it ?" the 
 pastor said. He put down the pen, which 
 he had been holding in his hand by way 
 of symbol that, amiable as he was, his 
 attention to his womankind was an en-
 
 SELF-DEVOTION. 89 
 
 croachrnent upon time which might be 
 more usefully employed. But this was a 
 serious question ; he had no suggestion to 
 offer, but he sat and twiddled his thumbs, 
 and looked at his wife with interest sud- 
 denly aroused. 
 
 " There is a great deal to be thought 
 of," said Mrs. Beecham, " it is not a 
 simple matter of family devotion. Of 
 course if I had no other ties, nor other 
 duties, everything would be easy. I 
 should go at once to my poor suffering 
 mamma." 
 
 Mrs. Beecham was a clever woman, 
 but she had not been able to get it out of 
 her mind, owing to the imperfections of 
 her education in youth, that it was a 
 vulgar thing to say father and mother. 
 " But in the present circumstances," she 
 continued, her husband having given his 
 assent to this speech, " it is clear that I 
 cannot do what I wish. I have you to 
 think of, my dear, and the children, and 
 the duties of my position. On the other
 
 90 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 hand, of course I could not wish, as poor 
 mamma's only daughter, to have my sister- 
 in-law called in. She is not the kind of 
 person; she is underbred, uneducated. 
 Of course she would be thinking of her 
 own children, and what would be best for 
 them. My parents have done all that 
 ought to be expected from them for Tom. 
 Considering all things, what they have 
 to dispose of ought to go to Phcebe 
 and Tozer. But Mrs. Tom would not see 
 that." 
 
 " It is very true, my dear; I don't 
 suppose she would," said Mr. Beecham, 
 with an anxious air. 
 
 " Mrs. Tom," said his wife, with some 
 heat, " would think her own had the first 
 claim. She maintained it to my very face, 
 and after that what have we to expect ? 
 It's us that are Tozers," she said ; " as 
 for you, Phoebe, you belong to another 
 family. I put it in my own language of 
 course, not in her vulgar way." 
 
 " It is a very serious question alto-
 
 SELF-DEVOTION. 9 1 
 
 getter," said the pastor, with some 
 solemnity. " I don't see how you can get 
 away, and I don't know what is to be 
 done." 
 
 " Whatever is to be done, I won't leave 
 poor mamma in the hands of Mrs. Tom," 
 cried Mrs. Beecham, " not whatever it 
 costs me. " She's capable of anything 
 that woman is. To have her in the same 
 town is bad enough, but in the same house 
 nursing poor mamma ! You and I 
 would never see a penny of the money, 
 Henery, nor our children — not a penny ! 
 besides the vexation of seeing one's own 
 parents turned against one. I know very 
 well how it would be." 
 
 Mr. Beecham ceased twiddling his 
 thumbs. The crisis was too serious for that 
 indulgence. " The position is most diffi- 
 cult," he said, " I see it all. It is easy 
 to see it for that matter, but to decide 
 what are we to do is not easy. To go 
 back to Carlingford after so many changes, 
 would it be good for you ?"
 
 92 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 " It would kill me," said Mrs. Beecham, 
 with energy, " you know it would kill me. 
 Envy drove us out, and envy would 
 bring me to the grave. I don't deceive 
 myself, that is what I see before me, if 
 I tear myself from all my duties and go. 
 But on the other hand " 
 
 "Listen, mamma!" cried Phoebe, turn- 
 ing round suddenly, " if grandmamma is 
 ill, and you are afrad to leave her alone, 
 why not send me?" 
 
 Both her parents turned towards Phoebe, 
 as she spoke ; they listened to her with 
 wonder and consternation, yet with ad- 
 miring looks. Then they looked at each 
 other consulting, alarmed. " You !" said 
 Mrs. Beecham, and " You !" echoed the 
 pastor, repeating in his great astonish- 
 ment what his wife said. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, me' — why not me ? it 
 would be only my duty," said Phoebe, 
 with great composure. " And there is 
 nothing to keep me from going. I almost 
 think I should like it — but anyhow, mamma,
 
 SELP-DEVOEION. 93 
 
 if you think it necessary, whether I like it 
 or not — " 
 
 " Phoebe, my darling, you are the best 
 child in the world," cried her mother, 
 rising up, and going to her hastily. She 
 gave her a kiss of maternal enthusiasm, 
 and then she looked at her husband. 
 " But should we take advantage of it ?" 
 she said. 
 
 "You see, my dear," said Mr. Beecham, 
 hesitating, " you might find many things 
 different from what you are used to. 
 Your grandpapa Tozer is an excellent 
 man — a most excellent man — " 
 
 "Yes, yes," said his wife, with some 
 impatience. She was as conscious as he 
 was of the great elevation in the social 
 scale that had occurred to both of them 
 since they left Carlingford, and knew as 
 well as he did that the old people had 
 remained stationary, while the younger 
 ones had made such advances ; but still 
 she did not like to hear her husband 
 criticize her father. What there was to be
 
 94 PH(EBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 said, she preferred to say herself. "Yes, 
 yes," she said, " Phoebe knows there is 
 a difference ; they are old-fashioned folks, 
 and don't live quite as we live. Some 
 things would strike you very strangely, 
 my dear, some things you would not like ; 
 and then Phoebe may be, for anything I 
 can tell, at a turning point in her own 
 life." 
 
 " If you mean about the Copperheads, 
 mamma, dismiss that from your mind," 
 said Phoebe. " There is no sort of hurry. 
 We may be thrown together in after-life, 
 and of course no one can tell what may 
 happen, but in the meantime there is 
 nothing of the sort in my mind — nor in 
 anyone else's. Do not think of that for 
 a moment. I am at no turning-point. I 
 am quite ready and quite willing to go 
 wherever you please." 
 
 Once more the parent pair looked at 
 each other. They had been very careful 
 not to bring their children into contact 
 since they were children, with the homelier
 
 SELF-DEVOTION. 95 
 
 circumstances of the life in which they 
 themselves had both taken their origin. 
 They had managed this really with great 
 skill and discretion. Instead of visiting 
 the Tozers at Carlingford, they had ap- 
 pointed meetings at the sea-side, by 
 means of which the children were trained 
 in affectionate acquaintance with tneir 
 grandparents, without any knowledge of 
 the shop. And Mr. Tozer, who was only 
 a butterman at Carlingford, presented all 
 the appearance of an old Dissenting 
 minister out of it — old-fashioned, not very 
 refined perhaps, as Mrs. Beecham allowed, 
 but very kind, and the most doting of 
 grandfathers. The wisp of white neck- 
 cloth round his neck, and his black coat, 
 and a certain unction of manner all 
 favoured the idea. Theoretically, the 
 young people knew it was not so, but the 
 impression on their imagination was to 
 this effect. Mrs. Tozer was only "grand- 
 mamma." She was kind too, and if 
 rather gorgeous in the way of ribbons, and
 
 96 PH(EBE, JUNIuii. 
 
 dressing generally in a manner which 
 Phoebe's taste condemned, yet she came 
 quite within the range of that affectionate 
 contempt with which youth tolerates the 
 disadvantages of its seniors. But the 
 butterman's shop ! and the entire cutting 
 off from everything superior to the 
 grocers and poulterers of Carlingford — how 
 would Phoebe support it ? This was what 
 Mr. and Mrs. Beecham asked each other 
 with their eyes — and there was a pause. 
 For the question was a tremendous one, 
 and neither knew in what way to reply. 
 
 " Phoebe, you are a very sensible girl — " 
 said her father at last, faltering. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, papa. I don't 
 think you are treating me as if I were 
 sensible," said Phoebe. " I know well 
 enough that grandpapa is in business — if 
 that is what you are afraid of — " 
 
 " Has been in business," said Mrs. 
 Beecham. "Your grandpapa has retired 
 for some time To be sure," she added, 
 turning to her husband, " it is only Tom
 
 SELF-DEVOTION. 97 
 
 that has the business, and as I consider 
 Mrs. Tom objectionable, Phoebe need not 
 be brought in contact — " 
 
 " If Phoebe goes to Carlingford," said 
 the pastor, " she must not be disagreeable 
 to anyone. We must make up our minds 
 to that. They must not call her stuck up 
 and proud." 
 
 " Henery," said Mrs. Beecham, " I can 
 put up with a great deal ; but to think of 
 a child of mine being exposed to the 
 tongues of those Browns and Pigeons and 
 Mrs. Tom, is more than I can bear. What 
 I went through myself, you never knew, 
 nor any one breathing — the looks they 
 gave me, the things they kept saying, the 
 little nods at one another every time I 
 passed ! Was it my fault that I was better 
 educated, and more refined like than they 
 were ? In Mr. Vincent's time, before you 
 came, Henery, he was a very gentleman- 
 like young man, and he used to come to 
 the High Street constantly to supper. 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 PHCEBE, JUKI0E. 
 
 It wasn't my doing. I never asked him — 
 no more than I did you !" 
 
 "Your father used to ask me/' said Mr. 
 Beecham, doubtfully. " It was very kind. 
 A young pastor expects it in a new place ; 
 and a great many things arise, there is no 
 doubt, in that way." 
 
 " Not by my doing," said the lady ; 
 " and when we were married, Henery, the 
 things I did to please them ! Thank 
 Heaven, they know the difference now; 
 but if they were to set themselves, as I 
 could quite expect of them, against my 
 child—" 
 
 "Mamma," said Phoebe, tranquilly, "I 
 think you forget that it is me you are talk- 
 ing of. I hope I know what a pastor's 
 daughter owes to herself. I have had my 
 training. I don't think you need be 
 frightened for me." 
 
 "No; I think Phoebe could manage 
 them if anyone could," said her father, 
 complacently. 
 
 She smiled w T ith a gracious response to
 
 SELF-DEVOTION. 99 
 
 this approval. She had a book in her 
 hand, which of itself was a proof of 
 Phoebe's pretensions. It was, I think, 
 one of the volumes of Mr. Stuart Mill's 
 " Dissertations." Phoebe was not above 
 reading novels or other light literature, 
 but this only in the moments dedicated to 
 amusement, and the present hour was 
 morning, a time not for amusement, but- 
 for work. 
 
 "Phoebe don't know Carlingford, nor 
 the folks there," said Mrs. Beecham, 
 flushed by the thought, and too much 
 excited to think of the elegances of diction. 
 She had suffered more than her husband 
 had, and retained a more forcible idea of 
 the perils ; and in the pause which ensued, 
 all these perils crowded into her mind. As 
 her own ambition rose, she had felt 
 how dreadful it was to be shut in 
 to one small circle of very small folks. 
 She had felt the injurious line of 
 separation between the shopkeepers and 
 the rest of the world ; at least she thought 
 
 h 2
 
 100 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 she had felt it. As a matter of fact, I 
 think it very doubtful whether Phoebe 
 Tozer had felt anything of the kind ; but she 
 thought so now ; and then it was a fact that 
 she was born Phoebe Tozer, and was used to 
 that life, whereas Phoebe Beecharu had no 
 such knowledge. She had never been aware 
 of the limitations of a small Dissenting com- 
 munity in a small town, and though she 
 knew how much the Crescent congregation 
 thought of a stray millionaire like Mr. 
 Copperhead (a thing which seemed too 
 natural to Miss Beecham to leave any room 
 for remark), her mother thought that it 
 might have a bad effect upon Phoebe's 
 principles in every way, should she find 
 put the lowly place held by the connection 
 in such an old-fashioned, self-conceited, 
 Tory town as Carlingford. "What would 
 Phoebe think? how would she manage 
 to associate with the Browns and the 
 Pigeons ? Fortunately, Mr. and Mrs. 
 Tozer had retired from the shop ; but 
 the shop was still there, greasy and
 
 SELF-DEVOTION. 101 
 
 buttery as ever, and Mrs. Beecham's own 
 respected papa was still " the butterman." 
 How would Phoebe bear it ? This was the 
 uppermost thought in her mind. 
 
 " You know, my darling," she said 
 afterwards, when they had left the study, 
 and were seated, talking it over, in the 
 drawing-room, " there will be a great deal 
 to put up with. I am silly ; I don't like 
 even to hear your papa say anything about 
 dear old grandpapa. He is my own, and 
 I ought to stand up for him; but even 
 with grandpapa, you will have a great deal 
 to put up with. They don't understand 
 our ways. They are used to have things 
 so different. They think differently, and 
 they talk differently. Even with your 
 sense, Phoebe, you will find it hard to get 
 
 on." 
 
 I am not at all afraid, I assure you, 
 
 mamma." 
 
 " You are not afraid, because you don't 
 know. I know, and I am afraid. You 
 know, we are not great people, Phoebe. I
 
 102 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 have always let you know that — and that it 
 is far finer to elevate yourself than to be 
 born to a good position. But when you 
 see really the place which poor dear grand- 
 papa and grandmamma think so much of, 
 I am sure I don't know what you will 
 say." 
 
 " I shall not say much. I shall not say 
 anything, mamma. I am not prejudiced,'' 
 said Phoebe. " So long as an occupation 
 is honest and honourable, and you can do 
 your duty in it, what does it matter ? 
 One kind of work is just as good as 
 another. It is the spirit in which it is 
 done." 
 
 " Oh, honest !" said Mrs. Beecham, half 
 relieved, half affronted. " Of course, it 
 was all that. Nothing else would have 
 answered papa. Your uncle Tom has the 
 — business now. You need not go there, 
 my dear, unless you like. I am not fond 
 of Mrs. Tom. We were always, so to 
 speak, above our station ; but she is not 
 at all above it. She is just adapted for it;
 
 SELF-DEVOTION. 103 
 
 and I don't think she would suit you in 
 the least. So except just for a formal call, 
 I don't think you need go there, and even 
 that only if grandmamma can spare you. 
 You must be civil to everybody, I sup- 
 pose ; but you need not go further ; they 
 are not society for you. You will hear 
 people talk of me by my Christian name, 
 as if we were most intimate ; but don't 
 believe it, Phoebe. I always felt aspira- 
 tions towards a very different kind of 
 life." 
 
 " Oh, don't be afraid, mamma," said 
 Phoebe, calmly ; " I shall be able to keep 
 them at a distance. You need not fear." 
 
 " Yes, my dear," said the anxious 
 mother ; " but not too much at a distance 
 either. That is just what is so difficult. 
 If they can find an excuse for saying that 
 my child is stuck up ! Oh ! nothing would 
 please them more than to be able to find 
 out something against my child. When 
 you have apparently belonged to that low 
 level, and then have risen," said Mrs.
 
 104 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 Beecham, with a hot colour on her cheek, 
 " there is nothing these kind of people will 
 not say." 
 
 These conversations raised a great deal 
 of thought in Phoebe's mind ; but they 
 did not change her resolution. If it was 
 necessary that some one should go to look 
 after her grandmamma, and keep all those 
 vulgar people at bay, and show to the 
 admiring world what a Dissenting minis- 
 ter's daughter could be, and what a dutiful 
 daughter was, then who so fit as herself to 
 be the example ? This gave her even a 
 certain tragical sense of heroism, which 
 was exhilarating, though serious. She 
 thought of what she should have " to put 
 up with," as of something much more 
 solemn than the reality ; more solemn, but 
 alas ! not so troublesome. Phoebe felt 
 herself something like a Joan of Arc as 
 she packed her clothes and made her pre- 
 parations. She was going among bar- 
 barians, a set of people who would not 
 understand her, probably, and whom she
 
 SELF-DEVOTION. 105 
 
 would have to "put up with." But what 
 of that ? Strong in a sense of duty, and 
 superior to all lesser inducements, she felt 
 herself able to triumph. Mrs. Beecham 
 assisted with very divided feelings at the 
 preparations. It was on her lips to say, 
 " Never raiod the evening dresses ; you 
 will not want them." But then the 
 thought occurred to her that to let the 
 Carlingford folks see what her daughter 
 had been used to, even if she had no use 
 for such things, would be sweet. 
 
 " No, Henery ; she shall take them all," 
 she said to her husband. " They shall see 
 the kind of society my child is in ; very 
 different from their trumpery little teas ! 
 They shall see that you and I, we grudge 
 nothing for Phoebe — and I dare be sworn 
 there is not one of them like her, not even 
 among the quality ! I mean," said Mrs. 
 Beecham, hastily, with a flush of distress 
 at her own failure in gentility, " among 
 those who think themselves better than 
 we are. But Phoebe will let them see
 
 106 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 what a pastor's family is out of their dirty 
 little town. She will bring them to their 
 senses. Though I hesitated at first when 
 it was spoken of, I am very glad now." 
 
 " Yes ; Phoebe is a girl to find her level 
 anywhere," said the pastor, complacently. 
 And they forgot what she would have to 
 put up with in their satisfaction and ad- 
 miration for herself.
 
 107 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A MOENING CALL. 
 
 SIR ROBERT DORSET and his daugh- 
 ter called, as in duty bound, upon 
 their relation two days after her ball. 
 " You had better come with us, Ursula, ,, 
 said Miss Dorset. " Sophy does not care 
 about visits, and Mrs. Copperhead asked 
 a great many questions about you. She 
 
 is very tenderhearted to the ■ young. " 
 
 Anne had almost said to the poor, for ib 
 is difficult to remember always that the 
 qualifications by which we distinguish our 
 friends when they are not present, are 
 not always satisfactory to their own ears. 
 " She was like you once, you know," she
 
 108 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 added, half apologetically. Ursula, who 
 was not in the least disposed to take 
 offence, did not ask how, but assented, 
 as she would have assented had cousin 
 Anne told her to get ready to go to the 
 moon. She went upstairs and put on her 
 little felt hat, which had been made 
 handsome by the long drooping feather 
 bestowed upon her by Sophy, and the 
 blue serge jacket which corresponded with 
 her dress. She had not any great opinion 
 of her own good looks, but she hoped 
 that she was " lady-like," notwithstanding 
 the simplicity of her costume. This was 
 her only aspiration. In her heart she 
 admired the tall straight angular kind of 
 beauty possessed by her cousins, and did 
 not think much of her own roundness and 
 softness, which seemed to Ursula a T ary 
 inferior " style ;" but yet if she looked 
 lady-like that was always something, and 
 both Sir Robert and his daughter looked 
 at her approvingly as she stood buttoning 
 her gloves, waiting for them.
 
 A MORNING CALL. 109 
 
 " If there are other city gentlemen there 
 mind you make yourself very agreeable, 
 Ursula," said cousin Sophy, which vexed 
 the girl a little. Whether the people were 
 city gentlemen or not, of course, she said 
 to herself, she would try to be nice — was 
 not that a girl's first duty ? She tried for 
 her part to be nice to everybody, to talk 
 when she could, and receive the recom- 
 pense of pleased looks. To walk with her 
 friends up the long line of Regent Street, 
 with many a sidelong glance into the shop- 
 windows, was very pleasant to Ursula. 
 Sometimes even Cousin Anne would be 
 tempted to stop and look, and point 
 things out to her father. Unfortunately, 
 the things Miss Dorset remarked were 
 chiefly handsome pieces of furniture, 
 beautiful carpets, and the like, which 
 were totally out of Ursula's way. 
 
 " There is just the kind of carpet I 
 want for the drawing-room," Anne said, 
 looking at something so splendid that 
 Ursula thought it was good enough for
 
 110 
 
 the Queen. But Sir Robert shook his 
 head. 
 
 " The drawing-room carpet will do very 
 well," he said. " It will last out my day, 
 and your brother will prefer to please 
 himself." 
 
 This brought a little cloud upon Anne 
 Dorset's placid face, for she too, like Mr. 
 Beecham, had a brother whose wife it was 
 not agreeable to think of as mistress in 
 the old house. She went on quickly 
 after that looking in at no more shops. 
 Perhaps she who could buy everything she 
 wanted (as Ursula thought) had on the 
 whole more painful feelings in looking at 
 them, than had the little girl beside her, 
 whose whole thoughts were occupied by 
 the question whether she would have 
 enough money left to buy her sister 
 Janey one of those new neckties, which 
 were " the fashion." Janey did not often 
 get anything that was the fashion. But 
 at any rate Ursula made notes and laid 
 up a great many things in her mind to-
 
 A MORNING CALL. Ill 
 
 tell Janey of — which would be next best. 
 
 Mrs. Copperhead was seated in a corner 
 of her vast drawing-room when her visitors 
 arrived, and her pale little countenance 
 brightened at sight of them. They were 
 the nearest approach to " her own people" 
 that the poor soul possessed. She re- 
 ceived their compliments upon her ball 
 with deprecating looks. 
 
 " I am sure you are very good — very 
 good to say so. 1 am afraid it was not 
 much amusement to you. They were not 
 the kind of people — " 
 
 " I scarcely knew a soul," said Sir 
 Robert, " it was a curious sensation. It 
 does one good now and then to have a 
 sensation like that. It shows you that 
 after all you are not such a fine fellow as 
 you thought yourself. Once before I ex- 
 perienced something of the same feeling. 
 It was at a ball at the Tuileries — but even 
 then, after a while, I found English people 
 I knew, though I didn't know the French 
 grandees ; but Jove ! except yourself and
 
 112 PHCEBE, JUNIOE. 
 
 Mr. Copperhead, Clara, I knew nobody 
 here." 
 
 Mrs. Copperhead felt the implied cen- 
 sure more than she was intended to feel it. . 
 " Mr. Copperhead does not care about 
 cultivating fashionable people," she said, 
 with a little spirit. " He prefers his old 
 friends." 
 
 " That is very nice of him," cried Anne, 
 " so much the kindest way. I liked it so 
 much. At most balls we go to, people 
 come and ask me to dance for duty, pre- 
 tending not to see that my dancing days 
 are over." 
 
 " She talks nonsense," said Robert. 
 " Clara, I must trust to you to put this 
 notion out of Anne's head. Why should 
 her dancing days be over ? I am not a 
 Methuselah, I hope. She has no right to 
 shelve herself so early, has she? I hope 
 to see her make a good match before I 
 die." 
 
 " So long as she is happy — " said Mrs. 
 Copperhead, faltering. She was not any
 
 A MORNING CALL. 113 
 
 advocate for good matches. " Oh, there 
 is Mr. Copperhead !" she added, with a 
 little start, as a resounding knock was 
 heard. " He does not often come home so 
 early; he will be very glad to see you, Sir 
 Robert. Are you going to stay long in 
 town, Miss May ?" 
 
 " Not long, only till the children ar- 
 rive," said Anne, looking compassionately 
 at the rich man's nervous wife. She had 
 been quiet enough, so long as she was 
 alone. Now a little fever seemed to be 
 awakened in her. She turned to Ursula 
 and began to talk to her quickly — 
 
 " Do you like being in town ? It is not 
 a good time of the year. It is nicer in 
 May, when everything looks cheerful ; 
 but I always live in London. You will 
 come back for the season, I suppose ?" 
 
 " Oh no," said Ursula. " I never was 
 in London before. Cousin Anne brought 
 me for a great pleasure. I have been 
 twice to the theatre, and at the ball here." 
 
 " Oh yes, I forgot, you were at the 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 H4 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 ball — and you danced, did you dance? I 
 cannot remember. There were so many 
 people. Oh yes, I recollect. I spoke to 
 Clarence — " 
 
 " I danced three times," said Ursula. 
 " I never was at a ball before. It was very 
 nice. Mr. Copperhead was so kind — " 
 
 "What is that about Mr. Copperhead 
 being kind ? Was I kind ? I am always 
 kind — ask my wife, she will give me a 
 good character," said the master of the 
 house, coming up to them. " Ah, the 
 Baronet ! how do you do, Sir Robert. 
 I don't often see you in my house." 
 
 " You saw us the other evening," said 
 Sir Robert, courteously, " and we have 
 just come, Anne and I, to let Clara know 
 how much we enjoyed it. It was really 
 splendid. I don't know when I have seen 
 so much — um — luxury — so great a dis- 
 play of — of — beautiful things — and — and 
 wealth." 
 
 " Glad to hear you were pleased," said 
 Mr. Copperhead, " no expense was spared
 
 A MORNING CALL. 115 
 
 at least. I don't often throw away my 
 money in that way, but when I do I like 
 things to be regardless of expense. That 
 is our way in the city ; other people have 
 to make a deal of gentility go a long way, 
 but with us, who don't stand on our 
 gentility — " 
 
 " It is not much to stand upon, cer- 
 tainly, in the way of giving balls," said 
 Sir Robert. " I quite agree with you that 
 money should not be spared when a good 
 effect is to be produced. Anne, my dear, 
 if you have said all you have to say to 
 Clara, you must recollect that we have a 
 great deal to do — " 
 
 " You are not going the moment I come 
 in," said Mr. Copperhead. " Come, we 
 must have some tea or something. Not 
 that I care very much for tea, but I sup- 
 pose you'll be shocked if I offer you any- 
 thing else in the afternoon. Haven't you 
 ordered tea, Mrs. Copperhead ? I can't 
 teach my wife hospitality, Sir Robert — 
 not as I understand it. She'd see you 
 
 i 2
 
 116 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 come and go a dozen times, I'll be bound, 
 without once thinking of offering anything. 
 That ain't my way. Tea ! and directly, 
 do you hear." 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Copperhead, in a 
 nervous tre-mor, " bring tea, Barton, 
 please. It is rather early, but I do so 
 hope you will stay." She gave Miss 
 Dorset an appealing glance, and Anne was 
 too kind to resist the appeal. 
 
 "To be sure they'll stay," said Mr. 
 Copperhead. " Ladies never say no to a 
 cup of tea, and ours ought to be good if 
 there's any virtue in money. Come and 
 look at my Turner, Sir Robert. I ain't 
 a judge of art, but it cost a precious lot, 
 if that is any test. They tell me it's one 
 of the best specimens going. Come this 
 way." 
 
 " You won't mind ?" said poor Mrs. 
 Copperhead. " He is very hospitable, he 
 cannot bear that any one should go with- 
 out taking something. It is old-fashioned, 
 but then Mr. Copperhead — "
 
 A MORNING CALL. 117 
 
 " It is a most kind fashion, I think," 
 said Anne Dorset, who had a superstitious 
 regard for other people's feelings, "and 
 Mr. Copperhead is quite right, I never 
 say no to a cup of tea." 
 
 Just then Clarence came -in with his 
 hands in his pockets, so curiously like his 
 father in his large somewhat loose figure, 
 as unlike him in aspect and expression, 
 that even the gentle Anne could scarcely 
 help smiling. When he had shaken hands 
 with Miss Dorset he dropped naturally into 
 a seat beside Ursula, who, dazzled by his 
 position as son of the house, and flattered 
 by what she called his " kindness," was 
 as much pleased by this sign of preference 
 as if Clarence Copperhead had been a hero. 
 
 " I hope you have recovered my father's 
 ball," he said. 
 
 " Recovered ! Mr. Copperhead." 
 
 "Yes, you think it uncivil; but I my- 
 self have scarcely recovered yet. The 
 sort of people he chose to collect — people 
 whom nobody knew."
 
 118 PHCEEE, JUNIOR. 
 
 "But Mr. Copperhead," said Ursula, 
 " if it was his old friends, as your mother 
 says, how much more noble of him than 
 if they had been fine people he did not 
 care for ! As for me, I don't know any 
 one anywhere. It was all the same to 
 me." 
 
 " That was very lucky for you," said 
 the young man. "My good cousins did 
 not take it so easily. They are your 
 cousins, too ?" 
 
 " Oh yes — they are so good," cried 
 Ursula, " Cousin Sophy laughs at me 
 sometimes, but Cousin Anne is as kind as 
 an angel. They have always been good 
 to us all our lives." 
 
 " You live near them, perhaps ? Sir 
 Robert has been kind enough to ask me 
 to the Hall." 
 
 " No, not near. We live at Carling- 
 ford. It is not a place like the Dorset's ; 
 it is a poor little town where papa is one 
 of the clergymen. We are not county 
 people like them," said Ursula, with
 
 A MORNING CALL. J 1 9 
 
 anxious honesty that he might not have 
 a false idea of her pretensions. " I have 
 never been anywhere all my life, and that 
 is why they brought me here. It was by 
 far the most beautiful party I ever saw," 
 she added, with a little enthusiasm. " I 
 never was at a real dance before." 
 
 " I am glad you thought it pretty," said 
 Clarence. " I suppose it was pretty ; when 
 the rooms are nice," and he looked round 
 the handsome room, not without a little 
 complacency, " and when there is plenty 
 of light and flowers, and well-dressed 
 people, I suppose no dance can help 
 being a pretty sight. That was about all. 
 There was no one worth pointing out." 
 
 " Oh, there were some very pretty 
 people/' said Ursula; " there was a young 
 lady in black. She was always dancing. 
 I should have liked to know her. You 
 danced with her a great many times, Mr. 
 Copperhead." 
 
 " Ah !" said Clarence. He was not 
 more foolish than his neighbours, but it
 
 120 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 flattered him that his dancing with one 
 person should have been noticed, especially 
 by a pretty creature, who herself had 
 attracted him and shared the privilege. 
 " That was Miss Beecham. I did not 
 dance with her above three or four times. 
 Of course," he said, apologetically, " we 
 are old friends." 
 
 Ursula did not know why he should 
 apologize. She did not intend to flirt, not 
 having any knowledge of that pastime as 
 yet. She was quite simple in her mention 
 of the other girl who had attracted her 
 attention. Now having said all she could 
 remember to say, she stopped talking, and 
 her eyes turned to the elder Mr. Copper- 
 head, who came back, followed by Sir 
 Robert. There was a largeness about the 
 rich man, which Ursula, not used to rich 
 men, gazed at with surprise. He seemed 
 to expand himself upon the air, and spread 
 out his large person, as she had never 
 known anyone else do. And Sir Robert, 
 following him, looked so strangely diffe-
 
 A MORNING CALL. 121 
 
 rent. He was very reluctant to be so led 
 about, and, as it were, patronized by the 
 master of the house, and his repugnance 
 took a curious form. His nose was slightly 
 drawn up, as if an odour of something dis- 
 agreeable had reached him. Ursula, in 
 her innocence, wondered what it was. 
 
 " Here's the Baronet, Clarence," said 
 Mr. Copperhead, who was slightly flushed; 
 " and he doubts the Turner being genuine. 
 My Turner ! Go off at once to those 
 picture people, Christie, whatever you call 
 them, and tell them I want proofs that it's 
 genuine. I am not the sort of man, by 
 George ! to be cheated, and they ought to 
 know that. They have had many a hun- 
 dred pounds of my money, but they shall 
 never have another penny if I don't get 
 proofs. It ain't pleasant, I can tell you, 
 to hear the Baronet, or anyone else for 
 that matter, running down my pictures." 
 
 " I did not run it down," said Sir 
 Robert, with another little curl of his 
 nostrils. (What could there be in this
 
 122 PHOEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 grand- big house that could make a dis- 
 agreeable smell ?) " I only said that I 
 had seen copies that were so wonderfully 
 good that none but an expert could tell 
 the difference ; that was all. I don't say 
 that yours is one of them." 
 
 "No; nor no one shall!" cried Mr. 
 Copperhead. " We shall have the experts, 
 as you call them, and settle it. By 
 George ! there shall be nothing uncertain 
 in my house. You can tell the men it 
 is Sir Robert Dorset who suggested it. 
 There's nothing like a title (even when it 
 isn't much of a title) to keep people up to 
 their work. Not meaning any disrespect 
 to Sir "Robert, I could buy him and his up 
 five times over. But I ain't Sir Robert, 
 and never will be. Say Sir Robert, 
 Clarence, my boy ; that'll bear weight." 
 
 " It was an unfortunate observation on 
 my part," said Sir Robert, stiffly. " I 
 have a picture myself, which I bought for 
 a Correggio, and which is a mere copy, I 
 believe, though a very nice one. I hold
 
 A MORNING CALL. 123 
 
 my tongue on the subject, and nobody is 
 the wiser. Anne, my dear, I think we 
 must go now." 
 
 " That would never suit me," said the 
 rich man ; " holding my tongue ain't my 
 way, is it, Mrs. Copperhead ? "What ! 
 going, after all, without your tea ? I am 
 afraid, ma'am, the Baronet is touchy, and 
 doesn't like what I said. But nobody 
 minds me, I assure you. I say what I 
 think, but I don't mean any harm." 
 
 " Oh, no," said Anne, drawing herself 
 up, while her father took leave of poor 
 little tremulous Mrs. Copperhead. " We 
 really must go ; we have stayed longer 
 than we meant to stay. Ursula — " 
 
 " Your little companion ?" said Mr. 
 Copperhead. " Ah ! you should take 
 care, Miss Dorset, of these little persons. 
 They stand in the way of the young 
 ladies themselves often enough, I can tell 
 you. And so can Mrs. Copperhead; she 
 knows." 
 
 He laughed, and both Anne and Ursula
 
 124 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 became aware that something offensive 
 was meant; but what it was, neither of 
 them could make out. Mrs. Copperhead, 
 whose intelligence had been quickened on 
 that point, perceived it, and trembled more 
 and more. 
 
 " Good-bye, dear," she said to Ursula 
 in an agony. " Though we are not 
 cousins, we are connections, through your 
 kind cousin Anne ; for she lets me call 
 her my cousin Anne too. Perhaps you 
 will come and pay me a visit sometimes, if 
 — if you can be spared." 
 
 " Oh, yes ; I should be very glad," said 
 Ursula, confused. 
 
 She did not understand why Sir Robert 
 should be in such a hurry, when both 
 young Mr. Copperhead and his mother 
 were so kind. As for the other Mr. Cop- 
 perhead, he did not interest Ursula. But 
 he went down to the door with them in an 
 excess of civility, offering Anne his arm, 
 which she was obliged to take, much 
 against her will ; and even Ursula felt a
 
 A MORNING CALL. 125 
 
 passing pang of humiliation when the 
 footman threw open the great door before 
 them, and no carriage was visible. 
 
 " Oh, you are walking !" said Mr. Cop- 
 perhead, with one of his big laughs. 
 
 After all, a laugh could hurt nobody. 
 Why was it that they all felt irritated and 
 injured ? Even Sir Robert grew scarlet, 
 and when they were outside on the 
 broad pavement, turned almost angrily 
 upon his daughter. 
 
 " I tell you what, Anne," he said ; " not 
 if it was to save my life, shall I ever enter 
 that brute's doors again." 
 
 " Oh, papa ; poor Mrs. Copperhead !" 
 cried kind Anne, with a wail in her voice. 
 That was all the reply she made.
 
 126 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 SHOPPING. 
 
 "TVTEXT day a telegram came from South- 
 -*-* ampton, announcing the arrival of 
 the little Dorsets, which Ursula rejoiced 
 over with the rest, yet was dreadfully 
 sorry for in her heart. " Now we shall be 
 able to get home," the sisters said, and 
 she did her best to smile ; but to say that 
 she was glad to leave London, with all its 
 delights, the bright streets and the shop- 
 windows, and the theatres, and the excite- 
 ment of being " on a visit," would be a 
 great deal more than the truth. She was 
 glad, sympathetically, and to please the 
 others ; but for herself, her heart fell. It
 
 SHOPPING. 127 
 
 ,was still winter, and winter is not lively 
 in Carlingford ; and there was a great deal 
 to do at home, and many things " to put 
 up with." To be sure, that was her duty, 
 this was only her pleasure; but at twenty, 
 pleasure is so much more pleasant than 
 duty. Ursula did not at all rebel, nor did 
 she make painful contrasts in her mind, as 
 so many young people do ; asking why 
 are others so well off, and I so badly off? 
 but her heart sank. All the mendings, all 
 the keepings in order, the dinners to be in- 
 vented with a due regard for the butcher's 
 bill, the tradespeople to be kept in good 
 humour, the servant to be managed, and 
 papa, who was more difficult than the ser- 
 vant, and more troublesome than the chil- 
 dren ! If Ursula sighed over the prospect, 
 I don't think the severest of recording 
 angels would put a very bad mark against 
 her. She had been free of all this for ten 
 wonderful days. No torn frocks, no un- 
 pleasant baker, no hole in the carpet, no 
 spoiled mutton-chops had disturbed her
 
 128 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 repose. All these troubles, no doubt, were 
 going on as usual at home, and Janey and 
 the maid were struggling with them as 
 best they could. Had Ursula been very 
 high-minded and given up to her duty, no 
 doubt she would have been too much 
 moved by the thought of what her young 
 sister might be enduring in her absence, 
 to get the good of her holiday ; but -I fear 
 this was not how she felt it. Janey, no 
 doubt, would get through somehow ; and 
 it was very sweet to escape for ever so 
 short a time, and have a real rest. There- 
 fore, it must be allowed that, when Ursula 
 went to her bedroom after this news 
 arrived, she relieved herself by " a good 
 cry." Two or three days longer, what 
 difference could that have made to those 
 children ? But after her headache was 
 relieved in this way, the cloud dispersed a 
 little. The thought of all she had to tell 
 Janey consoled her. She counted over the 
 spare contents of her purse, and calculated 
 that, after all, she would have enough to
 
 SHOPPING. 129 
 
 buy the necktie ; and she had all her 
 presents to exhibit ; the ball-dress, that 
 unhoped-for acquisition ; the Venetian 
 beads ; the bracelet, " Which is really 
 good — good gold; fancy!" said Ursula to 
 herself, weighing it in her hand. How 
 Janey would be interested, how she would 
 be dazzled ! There was a great deal of 
 consolation in this thought. In the after- 
 noon her cousins took her out " shopping," 
 an occupation which all young girls and 
 women like. They bought a great many 
 things " for the spring," and " for the 
 children," while Ursula looked on with ad- 
 miration. To be able to buy things three 
 months in advance, three months before 
 they could possibly be wanted, what 
 luxury ! and yet the Dorset s were not 
 rich, or so, at least, people said. 
 
 " Now, Ursula," said Cousin Anne, " we 
 have made all our purchases. Suppose 
 you choose frocks for the children at 
 home." 
 
 " Oh, me ?" cried poor Ursula, forget- 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 P£1(EBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 ing grammar. She blushed very red, and 
 looked, not without indignation, into Anne 
 Dorset's mild eyes. " You know I have 
 not any money ; you know we can't afford 
 it !" she cried, with starting tears. 
 
 " But I can," said Cousin Anne ; " at 
 least, I have some money just now. Money 
 always goes, whether one buys things or 
 not," she added, with a little sigh. "-It 
 runs through one's fingers. When one 
 has something to show for it, that is 
 always a satisfaction. Come, this would 
 be pretty for little Amy; but it is you who 
 must choose." 
 
 " But, Cousin Anne ! Dresses ! If it 
 was a necktie or a ribbon ; but frocks — " 
 
 " Frocks would be most useful, wouldn't 
 they ? One for Amy, and one for Janey. 
 I suppose Robin does not wear frocks 
 now ?" 
 
 " He has been in knickerbockers these 
 two years," said Ursula, half proud, half 
 sorry; " and the worst of it is, they can't 
 be made at home. Papa says, boys'
 
 SHOPPING. 131 
 
 clothes made at home are always spoiled, 
 and the tailor is so dear. Oh, Cousin 
 Anne, are you really, really going to be so 
 very, very good — !" 
 
 Mrs. Copperhead came into the shop 
 while they were choosing. Poor little 
 woman ! she who trembled so in her own 
 house, how everybody bowed down before 
 her at Messrs. Margrove and Snelcher's ! 
 It was all she could do to extricate herself 
 from a crowd of anxious officials, all eager 
 to supply her with everything that heart 
 could desire, when she saw the little party. 
 She came up to them, almost running in 
 her eagerness, her small pale face flushed, 
 and leaned on Anne Dorset's chair and 
 whispered to her. 
 
 " You will not be angry, dear kind 
 Anne. You are always so good to every- 
 body. Oh, forgive me ! forgive me !" 
 
 Ursula could not help hearing what she 
 said. 
 
 " There is nothing to forgive you, Mrs. 
 Copperhead." 
 
 K 2
 
 132 PHOEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 " Ob, dear Anne ! But I am more than 
 myself, you know ! He does not mean it ; 
 he never was brought up to know better. 
 He thinks that is how people behave — " 
 
 "Please don't say anything, dear Mrs. 
 Copperhead." 
 
 " Not if you will forgive — not if you 
 will promise to forgive. Poor Clarence 
 is heart-broken I" cried the poor woman. 
 " He is so frightened for what you must 
 think." 
 
 " We don't think anything," said Sophy, 
 breaking in ; " it is one of our good 
 qualities as a family that we never think. 
 Come and help us ; we are choosing frocks 
 for Ursula's sisters. She has two. What 
 are their ages, Ursula ? You, who live in 
 town, and know the fashions, come and 
 help us to choose." 
 
 And how respectful all the shopmen 
 grew when this nameless country party 
 was joined by the great Mrs. Copperhead 
 — or rather the great Mr. Copperhead's 
 wife, at whose command was unlimited
 
 SHOPPING. 133 
 
 credit, and all the contents of the shop 
 if she chose. One hurried forward to 
 give her a chair, and quite a grand per- 
 sonage, a " head man," came from another 
 counter to take the charge of pleasing 
 such a customer. Ursula could not but 
 look upon the whole transaction with awe. 
 Mrs. Copperhead was a very humble 
 timid woman, and Mr. Copperhead was 
 not nice; but it was something to com- 
 mand the reverence of all the people in 
 such a grand shop — a shop which Ursula 
 by herself would scarcely have ventured to 
 enter, and in which she felt timid and 
 overwhelmed, saying, " Sir " to the 
 gentleman who was so good as to ask 
 what she wanted. But here Mrs. Copper- 
 head was not afraid. She gave herself up 
 with her whole heart to the delightful per- 
 plexity of choice, and when that matter 
 was settled, looked round with searching 
 eyes." 
 
 " Don't they want something else?" 
 she said, " it is so long since I have
 
 134 PHCEBE, JUNrOR. 
 
 bought any children's things. It reminds 
 me of the days when Clarence was little, 
 when I took such pride in his dress. 
 Come with me into the cloak-room, my 
 dear, I am sure they must want jackets or 
 something." 
 
 Ursula resisted with pitiful looks at 
 Cousin Anne, and Sophy whispered into 
 Mrs. Copperhead's ear an explanation, 
 which, instead of quenching her ardour, 
 brought it up instantly to boiling point. 
 Her pale little languid countenance glowed 
 and shone. She took both Ursula's hands 
 in hers, half smiling, half crying. 
 
 "Oh, my dear," she said, "you can 
 give me such a pleasure, if you will ! You 
 know we are connections, almost relations. 
 Let me send them something. Dear 
 children, I wish I could see them. Come 
 and look at the little jackets and mantles. 
 I have often thought, if Providence had 
 given me a little girl, what pleasure I 
 should have had in dressing her. Hats 
 too ! I am sure they must want hats.
 
 SHOPPING. 135 
 
 Come, my dear, come and look at them." 
 Ursula did not know what to do. A little 
 pride and a great deal of shyness kept 
 her back, but Mrs. Copperhead was too 
 much in earnest to be crossed. She 
 bought a couple of very smart little upper 
 garments for Amy and Janey, and then, 
 clandestinely taking no one into her con- 
 fidence, for Ursula herself, and gave secret 
 orders to have them all sent to the Dorsets' 
 lodgings that night. She was quite trans- 
 formed so long as this transaction lasted. 
 Her languid countenance grew bright, her 
 pale eyes lighted up. 
 
 "You have given me such a pleasure," 
 she said, holding Ursula's hands, and 
 standing up on tiptoe to kiss her. " I am 
 so much obliged to you. I could almost 
 think that Clarence was little again, or 
 that he had got a little sister, which was 
 always my heart's desire. Ah, well ! 
 often, often, it seems better for us not to 
 have our heart's desire, my dear ; at least 
 I suppose that is how it must be."
 
 136 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 " I do not know how to thank you," 
 said Ursula, " you have been so kind — so 
 very kind." 
 
 " I have been kind to myself," said Mrs. 
 Copperhead, " I have so enjoyed it ; and 
 my dear," she added, with some solemnity, 
 still holding Ursula by the hands, " pro- 
 mise you will do me one favour more. It 
 will be such a favour. Whenever you 
 want anything for yourself or your sister 
 will you write to me ? I am always in 
 London except in autumn, and I should 
 so like to do your commissions. People 
 who live in London know how to get 
 bargains, my dear. You must promise to 
 let me do them for you. It will make me 
 so happy. Promise !" cried the little 
 woman, quite bright in her excitement. 
 Ursula looked at the two others who were 
 looking on, and did not know what to 
 say. 
 
 " She thinks you are too expensive an 
 agent for her," said Sophy Dorset, " and 
 I think so too."
 
 SHOPPING. 137 
 
 Mrs. Copperhead's face faded out of its 
 pleasant glow. 
 
 " There are two things I have a great 
 deal too much of," she said, " money and 
 time. I am never so happy as when I am 
 buying things for children, and I can see 
 that she will trust me — won't you, my 
 dear ? Must we say goodbye now ? 
 Couldn't I take you anywhere ? Look at 
 that big carriage, all for me alone, a little 
 light woman. Let me take you some- 
 where. No ! Ah, Cousin Anne, you have 
 not forgiven us for all you said." 
 
 "We have some other things to do," 
 said Anne, drawing back. As for Ursula, 
 she would not at all have objected to the 
 splendour of the carriage. And her heart 
 was melted by the lonely little woman's 
 pathetic looks. But the other ladies stood 
 out. They stood by while poor Mrs. 
 Copperhead got into the carriage and 
 drove off, her pale reproachful little face 
 looking at them wistfully from the window. 
 It was afternoon by this time, getting
 
 138 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 dark, and it was a tolerably long walk 
 along the lighted, crowded streets. 
 
 " Cousin Anne, I am afraid we have 
 hurt her feelings," said Ursula, " why 
 wouldn't you go ?" 
 
 " Go !" cried mild Anne Dorset ; " get 
 into that man's carriage after yesterday ? 
 Not for the world ! I can put up with a 
 great deal, but I can't go so far as that." 
 
 " She never did any harm," said Sophy, 
 " poor little soul ! You see now, Ursula, 
 don't you, how fine it is to marry a rich 
 man, and have everything that your heart 
 can desire?" 
 
 Ursula looked at her wonderiug. To 
 tell the truth, Mrs. Copperhead's eager- 
 ness to buy everything she could think of 
 for the unknown children at Carlingford, 
 the manner with which she was regarded 
 in the great shop, her lavish liberality, her 
 beautiful carriage, and all the fine things 
 about her, had brought Ursula to this very 
 thought, that it was extremely fine to 
 marry a rich man. Sophy's irony was
 
 SHOPPING. 139 
 
 lost upon her simple-minded cousin, and 
 so indeed was Mrs. Copperhead's pathos. 
 That she was very kind, and that she was 
 not very happy, were both apparent, but 
 Ursula did not connect the unhappiness 
 with the fact that she was a rich man's 
 wife. Mr. Copperhead certainly was not 
 very nice ; but when people got so old as 
 that, they never were very happy, Ursula 
 thought, and what had the money to do 
 with it ? She looked confused and puzzled 
 "at Sophy, wondering what she meant. 
 Yes, indeed, to marry a rich man, to be 
 able to buy presents for everyone, to 
 make the children at home perfectly happy 
 without any trouble to one's self ! Could 
 any one doubt that it was very nice ? 
 Alas ! Ursula did not think it at all likely 
 that this would ever be in her power. 
 
 " Poor Mrs. Copperhead !" said Anne, 
 as they made their way along the crowded 
 street, where it was difficult for them to 
 walk together, much less to maintain any 
 conversation. And presently Ursula,
 
 140 PHGEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 keeping as close as possible to her cousin's 
 side, but compelled to make way continu- 
 ally for other passers-by, lost herself in a 
 maze of fancies, to which the misty after- 
 noon atmosphere, and the twinkling lights, 
 and the quickly passing crowds lent a 
 confused but not unpleasing background. 
 She was glad that the noise made all talk 
 impossible, and that she could dream on 
 quietly as they glided and pressed their 
 way through the current of people in 
 Oxford Street and Regent Street, as un- 
 disturbed as if she had been shut up in 
 her own room — nay more so— for the ex- 
 ternal sights and sounds which flitted 
 vaguely by her, disguised those dreams 
 even from herself. Mrs. Copperhead had 
 once been poorer than she was, a poor 
 little governess. What if somewhere 
 about, in some beautiful house, with just 
 such a carriage at the door, a beautiful 
 young hero should be waiting who would 
 give all those dazzling delights to Ursula ? 
 Then what frocks she would buy, what
 
 SHOPPING. 141 
 
 toys, what ornaments ! She would not 
 stop at the girls, but drive to the best 
 tailor's boldly, and bid him send down 
 some one to take Johnnie's measure, and 
 Robin's, and even Reginald's ; and then 
 she would go to the toyshop, and to the 
 bookseller, and I can't tell where besides ; 
 and finally drive down in the fairy chariot 
 laden with everything that was delightful, 
 to the very door. She would not go in 
 any vulgar railway. She would keep 
 everything in her own possession, and give 
 each present with her own hands — a crown- 
 ing delight which was impossible to Mrs. 
 Copperhead — and how clearly she seemed 
 to see herself drawing up, with panting 
 horses, high-stepping and splendid, to the 
 dull door of the poor parsonage, where 
 scarcely anything better than a pony- 
 carriage ever came ! How the children 
 would rush to the window, and " even 
 papa " out of his study ; and what a com- 
 motion would run through Grange Lane, 
 and even up into the High Street, where
 
 142 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 the butcher and the baker would remem- 
 ber with a shiver how saucy they had 
 sometimes been — when they saw what a 
 greafc lady she was. 
 
 A dreamy smile hovered upon Ursula's 
 face as she saw all the little scenes of this 
 little drama, mixed up with gleams of the 
 shop-windows, and noises of the streets, and 
 great ghosts of passing omnibuses, and 
 horses steaming in the frosty air. How 
 many girls, like her, go dreaming about 
 the prosaic streets ? It was not, perhaps, 
 a very elevated or heroic dream, but the 
 visionary chariot full of fine things for the 
 children, was better than Cinderella's 
 pumpkin carriage, or many another chariot 
 of romance. Her cousins, who were so 
 much her elders, and who shuddered in 
 their very souls at the thought of poor 
 Mrs. Copperhead, and who were talking 
 earnestly about the children they expected 
 next morning, and what was to be done 
 with them, had no clue to Ursula's 
 thoughts. They did not think much of
 
 SHOPPING. 143 
 
 them, one way or another, but took great 
 care not to lose her from their side, and 
 that she should not be frightened by the 
 crowding, which, after all, was the great 
 matter. And they were very glad to get 
 back to the comparative quiet of Suffolk 
 Street, and to take off their bonnets and 
 take their cup of tea. But Ursula, for 
 her part, was sorry when the walk was 
 over. She had enjoyed it so much. It 
 was half Eegent Street and half Carling- 
 ford, with the pleasure of both mixed up 
 together ; and she was half little Ursula 
 May with her head in the air, and half 
 that very great lady in the dream-chariot, 
 who had it in her power to make every- 
 body so happy. Between poor Mrs. Cop- 
 perhead, who was the most miserable, 
 frightened little slave in the world, with 
 nothing, as she said, but time and money, 
 and Ursula without a penny, and who 
 always had so much to do, what a gulf 
 there was ! a gulf, however, which fancy 
 could bridge over so easily. But the
 
 144 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 dream was broken when she -got indoors; 
 not even the quiet of her own little room 
 could bring back in all their glory the 
 disturbed images that had floated before 
 her in the street. 
 
 This was Ursula's last day in town, and 
 there can be no doubt that it was of a 
 nature, without any aid from Sophy's sug- 
 gestion, to put a great many ideas into 
 her mind.
 
 145 
 
 CHAPTER VIII, 
 
 THE DORSETS. 
 
 1YTEXT day the little Dorsets came, an 
 -L* odd little pair of shivering babies, 
 with a still more shivering Ayah. It was 
 the failing health of the little exotic crea- 
 tures, endangered by their English blood, 
 though they had never seen England, and 
 talked nothing but Hindostanee, which 
 had brought them "home" at this in- 
 hospitable time of the year ; and to get 
 the rooms warm enough for them became 
 the entire thought of the anxious aunts, 
 who contemplated these wan babies with a 
 curious mixture of emotions, anxious to be 
 " very fond " of them, yet feeling diffi- 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 ' PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 culties in the way. They were very white, 
 as Indian children so often are, with big 
 blue veins meandering over them, distinct 
 as if traced with colour. They were 
 frightened by all the novelty round them, 
 and the strange faces, whose very anxiety 
 increased their alarming aspect; they did 
 not understand more than a few words of 
 English, and shrank back in a little heap, 
 leaning against their dark nurse, and 
 clinging to her when their new relations 
 made overtures of kindness. Children are 
 less easily conciliated in real life than 
 superficial observers suppose. The ob- 
 stinate resistance they made to all Anne 
 Dorset's attempts to win their confidence, 
 was enough to have discouraged the most 
 patient, and poor Anne cried over her 
 failure when those atoms of humanity, so 
 strangely individual and distinct in their 
 utter weakness, helplessness, and depend- 
 ence, were carried off to bed, gazing dis- 
 trustfully at her still with big blue eyes ; 
 creatures whom any moderately strong
 
 THE DORSETS. 147 
 
 hand could have crushed like flies, but 
 whose little minds not all the power on 
 earth could command or move. Strange 
 contrast ! Anne cried when they were 
 carried off to bed. Sir Robert had escaped 
 from the hot room, which stifled him, long 
 before ; and Sophy, half angry in spite of 
 herself, had made up her mind to " take 
 no notice of the little wretches." 
 
 " Fancy 1" she said ; " shrinking at 
 Anne — Anne, of all people in the world ! 
 There is not a little puppy or kitten but 
 knows better. Little disagreeable things ! 
 Oh, love them ! Why should I love them ? 
 They are John's children, I believe; but 
 they are not a bit like him ; they must be 
 like their mother. I don't see, for my 
 part, what there is in them to love." 
 
 " Oh, much, Sophy," said Anne, drying 
 her eyes; "they are our own flesh and 
 blood." 
 
 " I suppose so. They are certainly Mrs. 
 John's flesh and blood; at least, they are 
 not a bit like us, and I cannot love them
 
 148 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 for being like her, can I ? — whom I never 
 
 saw ?" 
 
 The illogicality of this curious argument 
 
 did not strike Anne. 
 
 " I hope they will get to like us," she 
 
 said. " Poor little darlings ! everything 
 
 strange about them, new faces and places. 
 
 I don't wonder that they are frightened, 
 
 and cry when anyone comes near them. 
 
 We must trust to time. If they only 
 
 knew how I want to love them, to pet 
 
 them—" 
 
 " I am going to help little Ursula with 
 her packing," said Sophy hastily; and she 
 hurried to Ursula's room, where all was in 
 disorder, and threw herself down in a 
 chair by the fire. " Anne is too good to 
 live," she cried. " She makes me angry 
 with her goodness. Little whitefaced things 
 like nobody I know of, certainly not like 
 our family, shrinking away and and cling- 
 ing to that black woman as if Anne was 
 an ogre — Anne ! why a little dog knows 
 better — as I said before."
 
 THE D0RSETS. 149 
 
 " I don't think they are very pretty 
 children," said Ursula, not knowing how- 
 to reply. 
 
 " Why should we be supposed to be fond 
 of them ?" said Sophy, who was relieving 
 her own mind, not expecting any help 
 from Ursula. " The whole question of 
 children is one that puzzles me ; a 
 little helpless wax image that does not 
 know you, that can't respond to you, and 
 won't perhaps when it can ; that has no- 
 thing interesting in it, that is not amusing 
 like a kitten, or even pretty. Well ! let 
 us suppose the people it belongs to like it 
 by instinct — but the rest of the world — " 
 
 " Oh, Cousin Sophy !" cried Ursula, 
 her eyes round with alarm and horror. 
 
 " You think I ought to be fond of them 
 because they are my brother's children ? 
 We are not always very fond, even of 
 our brothers, Ursula. Don't scream ; at 
 your age it is different; but w r hen they 
 marry and have separate interests — if 
 these mites go on looking at me with
 
 150 PH(EBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 those big scared eyes as if they expected 
 me to box their ears, T shall do it some 
 day — I know I shall ; instead of going on 
 my knees to them, like Anne, to curry 
 favour. If they had been like our family, 
 why that would have been some attraction. 
 Are you pleased to go home, or would you 
 prefer to stay here ?" 
 
 " In London ?" said Ursula, with along- 
 drawn breath, her hands involuntarily 
 clasping each other. " Oh ! I hope you 
 won't think me very silly, but I do like 
 London. Yes, I am pleased — I have 
 so many presents to take to them, thanks 
 to you and to Cousin Anne, and Mrs. 
 Copperhead. I am ashamed to be carry- 
 ing away so much. But Carlingford is 
 not like London," she added, with a 
 sigh. 
 
 " No, it is a pretty soft friendly country 
 place, not a great cold-hearted wilderness. " 
 
 "Oh, Cousin Sophy!" 
 
 " My poor little innocent girl ! Don't 
 you think it is desolate and cold-hearted,
 
 THE DORSETS. 
 
 151 
 
 this great sea of people who none of them 
 care one straw for you ?" 
 
 " I have seen nothing but kindness," 
 said Ursula, with a little heat of virtuous 
 indignation, '*' there is you, and Mrs. 
 Copperhead ; and even the gentlemen were 
 kind — or at least they meant to be 
 kind." 
 
 " The gentlemen r" said Sophy, amused. 
 " Do you mean the Copperheads ? Clarence, 
 perhaps ? He is coming to Easton, Ursula. 
 Shall I bring him into Carlingford to see 
 you ?" 
 
 " If you please, Cousin Sophy," said 
 the girl, simply. She had not been think- 
 ing any thoughts of " the gentlemen," 
 which could make her blush, but somehow 
 her cousin's tone jarred upon her, and 
 she turned round to her packing. The 
 room was littered with the things which 
 she was putting into her box, that box 
 which had grown a great deal too small 
 now, though it was quite roomy enough 
 when Ursula left home.
 
 152 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 " Ursula, I think you are a good little 
 thing on the whole — " 
 
 iS Oh, Cousin Sophy, forgive me ! No, 
 I am not good." 
 
 " Forgive you ! for what ? Yes, you are 
 on the whole a good little thing; not a 
 saint, like Anne ; but then you have per- 
 haps more to try your temper. We were 
 always very obedient to her, though we 
 worried her, and papa always believed in 
 her with all his heart. Perhaps you have 
 more to put up with. But, my dear, think 
 of poor Mrs. Copperhead, for example — " 
 
 " Why do you always call her poor Mrs. 
 Copperhead ? she is very rich. She can 
 make other people happy when she pleases. 
 She has a beautiful house, and every- 
 thing—" 
 
 " And a bear, a brute of a husband." 
 
 " Ah ! Does she mind very much ?" 
 asked Ursula, with composure. This 
 drawback seemed to her insignificant, in 
 comparison with Mrs. Copperhead's great- 
 ness. It was only Sophy's laugh that
 
 THE DORSETS. 153 
 
 brought her to herself. She said with 
 some haste, putting in her dresses, with 
 her back turned. " I do not mean to say 
 anything silly. When people are as old 
 as she is, do they mind ? It cannot matter 
 so much what happens when you are old." 
 
 "Why? but never mind, the theory is 
 as good as many others," said Sophy. 
 " You would not mind then marrying a 
 man like that, to have everything that 
 your heart could desire ?" 
 
 " Cousin Sophy, I am not going to — 
 marry anyone," said Ursula, loftily, carry- 
 ing her head erect. " I hope I am not 
 like that, thinking of such things. I am 
 very very sorry that you should have such 
 an opinion of me, after living together ten 
 days." 
 
 She turned away with all the forlorn 
 pride of injury, and there were tears in 
 her voice. Sophy, who dared not laugh 
 in reply, to make the young heroine more 
 angry, hastened to apologize. 
 
 " It was a silly question," she said.
 
 154 PHCEBE, JUNIOE. 
 
 " I Lave a very good opinion of you, 
 Ursula. Ten days is a long time, and I 
 know you as if we had been together all 
 your life. I am sure you do not think 
 anything a nice girl ought not to think ; 
 but I hope you will never be deceived and 
 persuaded to marry anyone who is like 
 Mr. Copperhead. I mean who is not nice 
 and young, and good, like yourself." 
 
 " Oh, no I" cried the girl, with energy. 
 " But most likely I shall not marry any- 
 one," she added, with a half sigh, " Janey 
 may, but the eldest has so much to do, 
 and so much to think of. Cousin Anne 
 has never married." 
 
 "Nor Cousin Sophy either," Sophy's 
 laugh sounded hard to the girl. " Never 
 mind, you will not be like us. You will 
 marry, most likely, a clergyman, in a 
 pretty parsonage in the country." 
 
 " I do not think I am very fond of 
 clergymen," said Ursula, recovering her 
 ease and composure. " They are always 
 in and about, and everything has to be
 
 THE DORSETS. 
 
 155 
 
 kept so quiet when they are studying ; and 
 then the parish people are always coming 
 tramping upstairs with their dirty feet. 
 When you have only one servant it is very, 
 very troublesome. Sir Robert never gives 
 any trouble," she said, once more, with 
 a soft little sigh. 
 
 "Papa?" said Sophy, somewhat sur- 
 prised, "but you would not — "she was 
 going to say, marry papa ; but when she 
 looked at Ursula's innocent gravity, her 
 absolute unconsciousness of the mean- 
 ings which her chance words might bear, 
 she refrained. " I think I must send 
 Seton to help you," she said, " you cannot 
 get through all that packing by yourself." 
 
 " Oh yes, I am not tired. I have put 
 in all my old things. The rest are your 
 presents. Oh, Cousin Sophy !" said the 
 girl, coming quickly to her and stealing 
 two arms round her. " you have been so 
 good to me ! as if it was not enough to 
 give me this holiday, the most delightful 
 I ever had in my life — to send me home
 
 156 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 loaded with all these beautiful things ! I 
 shall never forget it, never, never, if I 
 were to live a hundred years I" 
 
 " My dear I" cried Sophy, startled by 
 the sudden energy of this embrace. 
 Sophy was not emotional, but her eyes 
 moistened and her voice softened in spite 
 of herself. " But you must let me send 
 Seton to you," she said, hurrying away. 
 She was excited by the day's events, and 
 did not trust herself to make any further 
 response; for if she "gave way" at all, 
 who could tell how far the giving way 
 might go ? Her brother John had been 
 married at the time when Sophy too ought 
 to have been married, had all gone well — 
 and, perhaps, some keen-piercing thought 
 that she too might have had little children 
 belonging to her, had given force and 
 sharpness to her objections to the pale 
 little distrustful Indian children who had 
 shrunk from her overtures of affection. 
 She went to her room and bathed her eyes, 
 which were hot and painful, and then she
 
 THE D0KSETS. 157 
 
 went back to Anne in the sitting-room, 
 who had opened the window to reduce the 
 temperature, and was resting in an easy- 
 chair, and pondering what she could do 
 to make the children love her, and to be 
 a mother to them in the absence of Mrs. 
 John. 
 
 " I have been talking to Ursula, who is 
 always refreshing," said Sophy. " I won- 
 der whom that child will marry. She 
 gave me to understand, in her awkward, 
 innocent way, that she preferred papa. 
 A laugh does one good," Sophy added, 
 slightly rubbing her eyes. Anne made no 
 immediate answer. She scarcely heard 
 indeed what her sister said. 
 
 " I think we shall get on after a while," 
 she said, softly. " They said their prayers 
 very prettily, poor darlings, and let me 
 kiss them without crying. After a while 
 we shall get on, I don't fear." 
 
 "Anne!" cried Sophy, "you are too 
 much for mere human nature : you are too 
 bad or too good for anything. I begin to
 
 158 PHCEBE JUNIOK. 
 
 bate these little wretches when I hear you 
 speak of them so." 
 
 " Hush !" said Anne, " I know you 
 don't mean it. Easton will be very strange 
 to them at first. I could not go to India 
 for my part. A crust of bread at home 
 would be better. Think of parting with 
 your children just when they come to an 
 age to understand ?" 
 
 " John, I suppose, did not take children 
 into consideration when he went away. 
 You speak as if children were all one's 
 life." 
 
 " A great part of it," said Anne, gently. 
 " No, dear, I am not clever like you, and 
 perhaps it is what you will call a low view ; 
 but after all it runs through everything. 
 The flowers are used for the seed, and 
 everything in the world is intended to 
 keep the world going. Yes, even I, 
 that is the good of me. I shall never be 
 a mother, but what does that matter? 
 There are so many children left on the 
 world whom somebody must bring up."
 
 THE DORSETS. 159 
 
 " And who are brought to you when 
 they need you, and taken from you when 
 they need you no longer/' said Sophy, in- 
 dignantly, " you are left to bear the trou- 
 ble — others have the recompense." 
 
 " It is so in this world, my dear, all the 
 way down, from God himself. Always 
 looking for reward is mean and mer- 
 cenary. When we do nothing, when we 
 are of no use, what a poor thing life is," 
 said Anne, with a little colour rising in her 
 cheeks, " not worth having. I think we 
 have only a right to our existence when 
 we are doing something. And I have my 
 wages ; I like to be of a little consequence," 
 she said, laughing. " Nobody is of any 
 consequence who does not do something." 
 
 " In that case, the ayah, the housemaid 
 is of more consequence than you." 
 
 " So be it — I don't object," said Anne, 
 " but I don't think so, for they have to 
 be directed and guided. To be without a 
 housemaid is dreadful. The moment you 
 think of that, you see how important the
 
 160 PHCKBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 people who work are ; everything comes to 
 a standstill without Mary, whereas there 
 are ladies whose absence would make no 
 difference." 
 
 " I, for instance." 
 
 " You are very unkind to say so, Sophy ; 
 all the same if you were to do more, you 
 would be happier, my dear." 
 
 " To do what ? go on my knees to those 
 wax dolls, and entreat them to let me pet 
 them and make idols of them — as you will 
 do?" 
 
 " "Well, how are you getting on now ?" 
 said Sir Robert, coming in. " Ah ! I see, 
 you have the window open ; but the room 
 is still very warm. When they get to 
 Easton they will have their own rooms of 
 course. I don't want to reflect upon 
 John, but it is rather a burden this he 
 has saddled us with. Mrs. John's mother 
 is living, isn't she ? I think something 
 might have been said at least, on her part, 
 some offer to take her share." 
 
 Sophy gave her sister a malicious glance,
 
 THE DORSETS. 161 
 
 but promptly changed her tone, and took 
 up her position in defence of the arrange- 
 ment, with that ease which is natural in 
 a family question. 
 
 " Of course" she said, "your grand- 
 children, Dorsets, and the heir, probably, 
 as Eobert has no boy, could go nowhere, 
 papa, but to us. It may be a bore, but 
 at least John showed so much sense ; for 
 nothing else could be " 
 
 " John does not show very much sense 
 in an ordinary way. What did he want 
 with a wife and children at his age ? The 
 boy is five, isn't he ? and the father only 
 thirty — absurd ! I did not marry till 1 
 was thirty, though I had succeeded before 
 that time, and was the only son and the 
 head of the family. John was always an 
 ass," said Sir Eobert with a crossness, 
 which sprang chiefly from the fact that the 
 temperature of the room was higher than 
 usual, and the habits of his evening inter- 
 fered with. He was capable of sacrificing 
 something of much more importance to his 
 
 VOL. I. m
 
 162 PHCEBE, JUNIOE. 
 
 family, but scarcely of sacrificing his com- 
 fort, which is the last and most painful of 
 efforts. 
 
 " That may be very true," said Sophy, 
 " but all the same, it is only right that the 
 children should be with us. Mrs. John's 
 people are not well off. Her mother has 
 a large family of her own. The little things 
 would have been spoiled, or they would 
 have been neglected; and after all, they 
 are Dorsets, though they are not like 
 John." 
 
 " Well, well, I suppose you are right " 
 said Sir Robert, grumbling, " and, thank 
 Heaven, to-morrow we shall be at home." 
 
 Anne had scarcely said a word, though 
 it was she who was most deeply concerned 
 about the children. She gave her sister a 
 hug when Sir Robert relapsed into the 
 evening paper, and then stole upstairs to 
 look at the poor babies as they lay asleep. 
 She was not a mother, and never would 
 be. People, indeed, called her an old 
 maid, and with reason enough, though
 
 THE D0RSETS. 163 
 
 she was little over thirty ; for had she been 
 seventy, she could not have been more 
 unlikely to marry. It was not her voca- 
 tion. She had plenty to do in the world 
 without that, and was satisfied with her 
 life. The sad reflection that the children 
 whom she tended were not her own, did not 
 visit her mind, as, perhaps, it had visited 
 Sophy's, making her angry through the 
 very yearning of nature. Anne was of a dif- 
 ferent temperament, she said a little prayer 
 softly in her heart for the children and for 
 her sister as she stooped over the small 
 beds. " God bless the children — and, oh, 
 make my Sophy happy I" she said. She 
 had never asked for nor thought of 
 happiness to herself. It had come to her 
 unconsciously, in her occupations, in her 
 duties, as natural as the soft daylight, and 
 as little sought after. But Sophy was 
 different. Sophy wanted material for hap- 
 piness — something to make her glad ; she 
 did not possess it, like her sister, in the 
 quiet of her own heart. And from the 
 
 m 2
 
 164 PHOEBE, JUNIOK. 
 
 children's room Anne went to Ursula's, 
 where the girl, tired with her packing, 
 was brushing her pretty hair out before 
 she went to bed. Everything was ready, 
 the drawers all empty, the box full to 
 overflowing, and supplemented by a large 
 parcel in brown paper ; and what with the 
 fatigue and the tumult of feeling in her 
 simple soul, Ursula was ready to cry when 
 her cousin came in and sat down beside 
 her. 
 
 " I have been so happy, Cousin Anne. 
 You have been so good to me," she said. 
 
 " My dear, everybody will be good to 
 you," said Miss Dorset, " so long as you 
 trust everybody, Ursula. People are 
 more good than bad. I hope when you 
 come to Easton you will be still happier." 
 
 Ursula demurred a little to this, though 
 she was too shy to say much. " Town is 
 so cheerful," she said. It was not Sir 
 Robert's way of looking at affairs. 
 
 " There is very little difference in 
 places," said Anne, " when your heart is
 
 THE DORSETS. 165 
 
 light you are nappy everywhere." Ursula 
 felt that it was somewhat derogatory to 
 her dignity to have her enjoyment set 
 down to the score of a light heart. But 
 against such an assertion what could she 
 say?
 
 166 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 COMING HOME. 
 
 rjIHE party which set out from Suffolk 
 -*- Street next morning was a mighty 
 one ; there were the children, the ayah, the 
 new nurse whom Anne had engaged in 
 town, to take charge of her little nephews 
 as soon as they got accustomed to their 
 new life ; and Seton, the ancient serving- 
 woman, whom the sisters shared between 
 them ; and Sir Robert's man, not to speak 
 of Sir Robert himself and the Miss Dorsets 
 and Ursula. East on was within a dozen 
 miles of Carlingford, so that they all 
 travelled together as far as that town. 
 The Dorset party went farther on to the
 
 COMING HOME. 167 
 
 next station, from which they had still six 
 miles to travel by carriage. They set down 
 Ursula on the platform with her box and 
 her parcel, and took leave of her, and swept 
 out of the station again, leaving her rather 
 forlorn and solitary among the crowd. 
 " Disgraceful of May not to send some 
 one to meet the child. I suppose he knew 
 she was coming," said Sir Robert. And 
 Ursula had something of the same feeling, 
 as she stood looking wistfully about her. 
 But as soon as the train was gone, her 
 name was called in a somewhat high-pitched 
 voice, and turning round she found her- 
 self hugged by Janey, while Johnny, fresh 
 from school, seized her bag out of her 
 hand by way of showing his satisfaction 
 
 " We didn't come up till we could make 
 sure that the Dorsets were out of the 
 way," said Janey, " and, oh, is it really 
 you ? I am so glad to get you home." 
 
 "Why didn't you want to see the Dor- 
 sets ? They are the kindest friends we 
 have in the world," said Ursula. " How
 
 168 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 is papa ? Is he in a good humour ? And 
 the rest ? Why did not some more come 
 to meet me ? I made sure there would be 
 four at least." 
 
 " Amy and Robin have gone out to tea 
 — they didn't want to ; but papa insisted. 
 Oh, he is very well on the whole. And 
 Reginald is at home, of course, but I 
 thought you would like me best. Johnnie 
 came to carry the bag," said Janey with a 
 natural contempt for her younger brother. 
 " What a big parcel ! You must have 
 been getting quantities of presents, or 
 else you must have packed very badly, for 
 I am sure there was lots of room in the 
 trunk when you went away." 
 
 " Oh, Janey, if you only knew what I 
 have got there !" 
 
 "What?" said Janey, with quiet but 
 composed interest. It never occurred to 
 her that she could have any individual 
 concern in the contents of the parcels. 
 She was a tall girl who had outgrown all 
 her frocks, or rather did outgrow them
 
 COMING HOME. 169 
 
 periodically, with dark elf locks about her 
 shoulders, which would not curl or creper 
 or do anything that hair ought to do. 
 She had her thoughts always in the clouds, 
 forming all sorts of impossible plans, as 
 was natural to her age, and was just the 
 kind of angular, jerky school-girl very well 
 intentioned, but very maladroit, who is a 
 greater nuisance to herself and everybody 
 else than even a school-boy, which is 
 saying a good deal. Things broke in her 
 hands as they never broke in anybody 
 else's ; stuffs tore, furniture fell to the 
 ground as she passed by. Ursula care- 
 fully kept her off the parcel and gave it to 
 Johnnie. One of the railway porters, when 
 all the rest of the passengers were dis- 
 posed of, condescended to carry her trunk, 
 and thus they set out on their way home. 
 The parsonage was close to St. Roque, 
 at the other end of Grange Lane. They 
 had to walk all the way down that 
 genteel and quiet surburban road, by the 
 garden walls over which, at this season,
 
 170 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 no scent of flowers came, or blossomed 
 branches hung forth. There were red holly- 
 berries visible, and upon one mossy old 
 tree a gray bunch of mistletoe could be 
 seen on the other side of the street. But 
 how quiet it was ! They scarcely met a 
 dozen people between the station and 
 St. Roque. 
 
 " Oh, Janey, is everybody dead ?" said 
 Ursula. " How dull it is ! You should 
 see London " 
 
 " Ursula," said Janey firmly, " once for 
 all, I am not going to stand this London f 
 A nasty, smoky, muddy place, no more 
 like Carlingford than — I am like you. You 
 forget I have been in London; you are 
 not speaking to ignorant ears," said Janey, 
 drawing herself up, " and your letters were 
 quite bad enough. You are not going to 
 talk of nothing but your disagreeable 
 London here. Talk to people who have 
 never seen it I" said the girl, elevating 
 her shoulders with the contempt of know- 
 ledge.
 
 COMING HOME. 171 
 
 " That time you were at the dentist's — " 
 said Ursula, " and call that seeing London ! 
 Cousin Anne and Cousin Sophy took me 
 everywhere. We went to drive in the 
 Park. We went to the Museum and the 
 National Gallery. And, oh ! Janey, listen ! 
 we went to the theatre : think of that I" 
 
 "Well, I should like to go to the 
 theatre," said Janey, with a sigh. " But 
 you told me in your letter. That's 
 what comes of being the eldest. Unless 
 you get married, or something, nobody 
 will ever think of taking me." 
 
 "You are five years younger than I 
 am," said Ursula with dignity. " Natu- 
 rally, people don't think of a girl at your 
 age. You must wait till you are older, 
 as I have had to do. Janey ! guess what 
 is in that V 
 
 " Your new dress — your ball-dress. If 
 it isn't crumpled, as you said, you can't 
 have danced very much. I know my dress 
 will be in tatters if I ever go to a ball." 
 
 " I danced as much as I wished. I did
 
 172 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 not know many people," said Ursula, draw- 
 ing herself up. " Of course, at this time 
 of the year nobody is in town, and we 
 hardly knew anyone — and of course — " 
 
 " Of course, you only knew the fashion- 
 able people who are out of town in 
 winter," cried Janey, with a laugh which 
 echoed along the street. Ursula had not 
 come home from London to be laughed at 
 by her younger sister, she who had been 
 petted by the Dorsets, and whose opinion 
 even Sir Robert had asked on various 
 occasions. She felt this downfall all the 
 more deeply that she had been looking 
 forward to so many long talks with Janey, 
 and expected to live all her brief ten days' 
 holiday over again, and to instruct her 
 young sister's mind by the many experi- 
 ences acquired in that momentous time. 
 Poor Ursula ! ten days is quite long enough 
 to form habits at her age, and she had 
 been taken care of, as young ladies are 
 taken care of in society ; accompanied or 
 attended wherever she went, and made
 
 COMING HOME. 173 
 
 much of. To find herself thus left to 
 arrive and get home as she pleased, with 
 nobody but Janey to meet her, was a ter- 
 rible falling-off; and to be laughed at by 
 Janey was the last step of all. Tears filled 
 her eyes, she turned her shoulder to her 
 companion, averting her head; and this 
 was all poor Ursula had to look to. The 
 dreary Carlingford street, papa finding 
 fault, everything going wrong, and Janey 
 laughing at her ! To be Cousin Anne's 
 maid, or governess to the little Indian 
 children, would be better than this. For 
 five minutes more she walked on in offended 
 silence, saying nothing, though Janey, like 
 the school-girl she was, made frequent 
 use of her elbow to move her sister. 
 
 " Ursula I" the girl said at last, with a 
 more potent nudge, " what's the matter ? 
 won't you speak to me ?" And Janey, 
 who had her own disappointment too, and 
 had expected to be received with enthu- 
 siasm, burst out prying, regardless of 
 appearances, in the middle of the street.
 
 174 PHOEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 " Janey, for heaven's sake — people will 
 see you ! I am sure it is I who should 
 cry, not you," said Ursula, in sudden 
 distress. 
 
 "I don't care who sees me," sobbed 
 Janey. " You have been enjoying your- 
 self while we have stayed at home, and 
 instead of being pleased to come back, or 
 glad to see us — Oh, how can you be so 
 cold-hearted ?" she said with afresh burst 
 of tears. 
 
 Here the other side of the question sud- 
 denly dawned upon Ursula. She had been 
 enjoying herself while the others stayed at 
 home. It was quite true. Instead of feel- 
 ing the shock of difference she should have 
 thought of those who had never been so 
 lucky as she was, who had never seen 
 anything out of Oarlingford. " Don't be 
 so foolish, Janey," she said, " I am glad; 
 — and I have brought you such beautiful 
 presents. But when you do nothing but 
 l aug h " 
 
 " I am sure I didn't laugh to hurt. I
 
 COMING HOME. 175 
 
 only laughed for fun !" cried Janey, drying 
 her eyes not without a little indignation ; 
 and thus peace was made, for indeed one 
 was dying to tell all that happened, and 
 the other dying to hear. They walked the 
 rest of the way with their heads very close 
 together, so absorbed that the eldest 
 brother, coming out of the gate as they 
 approached, stood looking at them with 
 a smile on his face for some time before 
 they saw him. A slight young man, not 
 very tall, with dark hair, like Ursula's, 
 and a somewhat anxious expression, in 
 correct English clerical dress. 
 
 " Has it all begun already ?" he said, 
 when they came close up to him, but 
 without perceiving him, Ursula's face in- 
 spired with the pleasure of talking, as 
 Janey's was with the eager delight of listen- 
 ing. The house was built in the ecclesias- 
 tical style, with gables and mullioned 
 windows, which excluded the light, at least, 
 whether or not they inspired passers-by 
 with a sense of correct art, as they were
 
 176 PHOEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 intended to do. It was next door to the 
 church, and had a narrow strip of shrub- 
 bery in front, planted with somewhat 
 gloomy evergreens. The gate and door 
 stood always open, except when Mr. 
 May himself, coming or going, closed them 
 momentarily, and it cannot be denied that 
 there were outward and visible signs of 
 a large, somewhat unruly family inside. 
 
 " Oh, Reginald !" cried Ursula. " You 
 have come home !" 
 
 " Yes — for good," he said with a half- 
 laugh, half-sigh. " Or for bad— who can 
 tell? At all events, here I am." 
 
 " Why should it be for bad ?" cried 
 Janey, whose voice was always audible 
 half-way up the street. " Oh, Ursula, 
 something very nice has happened. He 
 is to be warden of the old college, fancy ! 
 That is being provided for, papa says ; 
 and a beautiful old house." 
 
 " Warden of the old college ! I thought 
 it was always some old person who was 
 chosen."
 
 COMING HOME. 177 
 
 "But papa says he can live at 
 home and let the house," cried Janey. 
 " There is no reason why it should be an 
 old gentleman, papa thinks ; it is nice, 
 because there is no work — but look at 
 Reginald, he does not like it a bit ; he is 
 never satisfied, I am sure, I wish it was 
 me—" 
 
 " Come in," said Reginald hastily, " I 
 don't want all my affairs, and my character 
 besides, to be proclaimed from the house- 
 tops." Janey stopped indignant, to make 
 some reply, and Ursula, grasping her 
 arm, as she feared, with an energetic 
 pinch, went in quickly. Little Amy had 
 been playing in the little square hall, which 
 was strewed with doll's-clothes, and with 
 two or three dolls in various stages of 
 dilapidation. Some old, ragged school- 
 books lay in a corner, the leaves out of 
 one of which were blowing about in the 
 wind. Even ten days of Anne Dorset's 
 orderly reign had opened Ursula's eyes to 
 these imperfections. 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 " Oh, what a muddle !" she cried, " I 
 don't wonder that Reginald does not care 
 for living at home." 
 
 " Oh, I wish papa heard you I" cried 
 Janey loudly, as Ursula led the way into 
 the drawing-room, which was not much 
 tidier than the hall. There was a basket- 
 full of stockings to be mended, standing 
 on the old work-table. Ursula felt, with 
 a sinking of the heart, that they were 
 waiting for her arrival, and that Janey had 
 done nothing to them More toys and 
 more old school-books were tossed about 
 upon the faded old carpet. The table- 
 cover hung uneven, one end of it dragging 
 upon the floor. The fire was burning very 
 low, stifled in dust and white ashes. How 
 dismal it looked ! not like a place to come 
 home to. " Oh, I don't wonder Reginald 
 is vexed to be made to live at home," she 
 said once again to herself, with tears in 
 her eyes. 
 
 " I hope you have enjoyed yourself," 
 her brother said, as she dropped wearily
 
 COMING HOME. 179 
 
 into the old easy-chair. " We have missed 
 you very much ; but I don't suppose you 
 missed us. London was very pleasant, I 
 suppose, even at this time of the year?" 
 
 " Oh, pleasant!" said Ursula. "If you 
 had been with me, how you would have 
 liked it ! Suffolk Street is only an inn, 
 but it is a very nice inn, what they call a 
 private hotel. Far better than the great 
 big places on the American principle, Sir 
 Robert says. But we dined at one of 
 those big places one day, and it was very 
 amusing. Scores of people, and great 
 mirrors that made them look hundreds. 
 And such quantities of lights and ser- 
 vants ; but Sir Robert thought Suffolk 
 Street was very much the best. And I 
 went to two theatres and to a ball. They 
 were so kind. Sophy Dorset laughs at 
 me sometimes, but Anne is an angel," said 
 Ursula fervently. " I never knew any one 
 so good in my life." 
 
 " That is not saying much," said Janey, 
 " for none of us are very good, and you 
 
 n 2
 
 180 PH(EBE, JUNIOE. 
 
 know nobody else. Anne Dorset is an old 
 maid." 
 
 " Oh, Janey ! how dare you ?" 
 
 " And, for that matter, so is Sophy. 
 Papa says so. He says she was jilted, and 
 that she will never get a husband." 
 
 " Hold your tongue," said Reginald 
 fiercely, " if we are to hear what my father 
 says at second hand through an imp like 
 you-" 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Janey, mocking, " that 
 is because you are not friends with 
 papa." 
 
 " Janey, come and help me to take off 
 my things," said Ursula, seeing that 
 Reginald would probably proceed to strong 
 measures and box his sister's ears. " If 
 you were older, you would not talk like 
 that," she said, with dignity, as they 
 went upstairs. "Oh, dear Janey, you 
 can't think how different Cousin Anne and 
 Sophy are, who are not girls, like us. 
 They never talk unkindly of other people. 
 You would get to think it childish, as I
 
 COMING HOME. 181 
 
 do, if you bad been living with Cousin 
 Anne." 
 
 "Stuff!" said Janey. "Papa is not 
 childish, I hope. And it was he who 
 said all that. I don't care what your fine 
 Cousin Anne does." 
 
 Notwithstanding, the reproof thus 
 administered went to Janey's heart ; for to 
 a girl of fifteen, whose next sister is 
 almost twenty, the reproach of being 
 childish is worse than any other. She 
 blushed fiery-red, and though she scoffed, 
 was moved. Besides, though it suited 
 her to quote him for the moment, she was 
 very far from putting any unbounded faith 
 in papa. 
 
 " Just wait a moment ! See what 
 Cousin Anne, whom you think so little of, 
 has sent you," said Ursula, sitting down 
 on the floor with the great parcel in her 
 lap, carefully undoing the knots ; for she 
 had read Miss Edgeworth's stories in her 
 youth, and would not have cut the strings 
 for the world ; and when the new dresses
 
 181 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 in all their gloss and softness, were spread 
 out upon the old carpet, which scarcely 
 retained one trace of colour, Janey was 
 struck dumb. 
 
 " Is that," she said faltering and con- 
 scious-stricken, " for me P' 
 
 " This is for you ; though you think 
 them old maids — and that they will never 
 get husbands," said Ursula, indignantly. 
 " What a thing for a girl to say ! And, 
 indeed, I don't think Cousin Anne will 
 ever get a husband. There is not one in 
 the world half good enough for her — 
 not one ! Yes, this is for you. They 
 went themselves, and looked over half 
 the things in the shop before they could 
 get one to please them. They did not say 
 6 Janey is an unkind little thing, that will 
 repeat all she hears about us, and does 
 not care for us a bit.' They said, £ Ursula, 
 we must choose frocks for Janey and Amy. 
 Come and help us to get what they will 
 like best.' " 
 
 Janey's lips quivered, and two very big
 
 COMING HOME. 183 
 
 tears came into her eyes. She was 
 stricken with the deepest compunction, 
 but her pride did not permit her to give 
 in all at once. 
 
 " I daresay you told her how badly off 
 we were," she said. 
 
 " I told her nothing about it, and she 
 did not say a word — not a word, as if it 
 were a charity — only to please you — to 
 let you see that you were remembered ; 
 but I daresay it is quite true after all," 
 said Ursula, with lofty irony, " that 
 Cousin Anne will never get a husband, 
 and that they are old maids." 
 
 " Oh, you know I didn't mean it !" 
 said Janey, giving way to her tears. 
 
 Then Ursula got up and took off her 
 hat and smoothed her hair, feeling satis- 
 fied with her success, and went down- 
 stairs again to Reginald, who was seated 
 on the dingy sofa waiting for her, to 
 answer her questions about the great 
 event which had happened since she had 
 been away. Ursula's mind was full of
 
 184 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 the shock of the sharp impression made 
 by her return, though the impression it- 
 self began to wear away. 
 
 " I can understand why you don't care 
 about living at home," she said. "Oh, 
 I wonder if 1 could do anything to mend 
 it ! I am so glad you have got something, 
 Reginald. If you have a good servant, 
 you might be quite comfortable by your- 
 self, and we could come and see you. I 
 should not feel it a bit — not a single bit ; 
 and it would be so much nicer for you." 
 
 " You are mistaken," said her brother. 
 " It is not staying at home I object to. 
 We are not very tidy or very comfort- 
 able, perhaps, but we all belong to each 
 other, at least. It is not that, Ursula." 
 
 " What is it then ? Janey says," said 
 Ursula, drawing a long breath of awe and 
 admiration, " that you are to have two 
 hundred and fifty pounds a year." 
 
 " For doing nothing," he said. 
 
 " For doing nothing ?" She looked up 
 at him a little bewildered, for his tone
 
 COMING HOME. 185 
 
 struck Ursula as not at all corresponding 
 with the delightful character of bhe words 
 he said. " But, Reginald, how nice, how 
 very nice it sounds ! How lucky you must 
 have been ! How could it happen that 
 such a delightful thing should come to one 
 of us ? We are always so unlucky, papa 
 says." 
 
 " If you think this luck — " said Reginald. 
 " He does, and he is quite pleased ; but 
 how do you suppose I can be pleased ? 
 Thrust into a place where I am not 
 wanted — where I can be of no use. A 
 dummy, a practical falsehood. How can 
 I accept it, Ursula? I tell you it is a 
 sinecure !" 
 
 Ursula looked at him with eyes round 
 with wonder. He seemed to be speaking 
 in some different language of which she 
 understood nothing. " What is a sine- 
 cure ?" she said.
 
 186 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 PAPA, 
 
 URSULA has come back !" cried the 
 little ones, who had returned from 
 their tea-party, running to meet their 
 father at the door. 
 
 Mr. May was very good, except by 
 moments, to his younger children. He 
 was not, indeed, an unkind father to any 
 of them ; but he had never forgiven Pro- 
 vidence for leaving him with his mother- 
 less family upon his hands, a man so 
 utterly unfit for the task. Perhaps he did 
 not put this exactly into words, but he 
 felt it deeply, and had never got over it. 
 There were so many things that he could
 
 PAPA. 
 
 187 
 
 have done better, and there were so many 
 people who could have done this better ; 
 and yet it was precisely to him, not a 
 person adapted to the charge of children, 
 that it had been given to do it ! This 
 seemed to argue a want of judgment in 
 the regulation of mortal affairs which 
 irritated him all the more because he was 
 a clergyman, and had to persuade other 
 people that everything that happened to 
 them was for the best. He was a man 
 of some culture, and literary power, and 
 wrote very pleasant " thoughtful " papers 
 for some of the Church magazines ; but these 
 compositions, though very easy to read, 
 were only brought into the world by 
 elaborate precautions on the part of the 
 family, which scarcely dared to speak 
 above its breath when papa was " writing;" 
 for on such occasions he could be very 
 savage, as the occasional offender knew. 
 He was a man with an imposing person, 
 good-looking, and of very bland and de- 
 lightful manners, when he chose. But yet
 
 188 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 be had never made friends, and was 
 now at fifty-five the incumbent of St. 
 Roque, with a small income and a humble 
 position in the church hierarchy of Car- 
 lingford. He preached better than any 
 other of the Carlingford clergymen, looked 
 better, had more reputation out of the 
 place ; and was of sufficiently good family, 
 and tolerably well connected. Yet he 
 never got on, never made any real ad- 
 vance in life. Nobody could tell what was 
 the cause of this, for his opinions were 
 moderate and did not stand in his way — 
 indeed within the limits of moderation he 
 had been known to modify his principles, 
 now inclining towards the high, then to- 
 wards the low, according as circumstances 
 required, though never going too far in 
 either direction. Such a man ought to 
 have been successful, according to all 
 rules, but he was not. He was generally 
 in debt and always needy. His eldest 
 son, James, was in India, doing well, 
 ana had often sent a contribution towards
 
 PAPA. 189 
 
 the comfort of the family, and especially 
 to help Reginald at College. But James 
 had married a year before, and accord- 
 ingly was in a less favourable position for 
 sending help. And indeed these windfalls 
 had never produced much effect upon the 
 family, who heard of James' gifts 
 vaguely without profiting by them. All 
 this donna a penser to the elder children. 
 Having no softening medium of a mother's 
 eyes to look at their father through, they 
 were more bold in judging him than, per- 
 haps, they ought to have been ; and he did 
 not take pains to fascinate his children, 
 or throw the glamour of love into their 
 eyes. He took it for granted, frankly and 
 as a part of nature, that he himself wa$ 
 the first person to be considered in all 
 matters. So he was, of course — so the 
 father, the bread-winner, the head of the 
 family ought to be ; and when he has a 
 wife to keep him upon that pedestal, and 
 to secure that his worship shall be re- 
 spected, it becomes natural, and the -lirst
 
 190 PHCEBE, JUNTOE. 
 
 article of the family creed ; but somehow 
 when a man has to set forth and uphold 
 this principle himself, it is less successful ; 
 and in Mr. May's case it was not success- 
 ful at all. He was not severe or tyrannical, 
 so that they might have rebelled. He only 
 held the conviction quite honestly and 
 ingeniously, that his affairs came first, 
 and were always to be attended to. No- 
 thing could be said against this principle — 
 but it tells badly in the management of a 
 family unless, indeed, as we have said, it is 
 managed through the medium of the mother, 
 who takes away all imputation of selfishness 
 by throwing an awful importance and tender 
 sanctity over all that happens to be de- 
 sirable or necessary for " papa." 
 
 Mr. May had no wife to watch over the 
 approaches of his study, and talk of him 
 with reverential importance to her children. 
 This was not his fault, but his misfortune. 
 Bitterly had he mourned and resented the 
 blow which took her from him, and 
 deeply felt the loss she was to him — this
 
 PAPA. 191 
 
 was how he spoke of it always, the loss 
 to him ; and probably poor Mrs. May who 
 had adored and admired her husband to 
 the last day of her life, would have been 
 more satisfied with this way of mourning 
 for her than any other; but naturally 
 Ursula, who thought of the loss to herself 
 and the other children, found fault with 
 this limitation of the misfortune. A man 
 who has thus to fight for himself does not 
 appear in an amiable aspect to his family, 
 to whom, as to all young creatures, it 
 seemed natural that they should be the 
 first objects ; and as they were a great 
 trouble and burden to him, perhaps the 
 children did not always bear their most 
 amiable aspect to their father. Both 
 looked selfish to the other, and Mr. May, 
 no doubt, could have made out quite as 
 good a case as the children did. He 
 thought all young people were selfish, 
 taking everything they could, trying to 
 extract even the impossible from the 
 empty purse and strained patience of their
 
 192 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 elders ; and they thought that he was 
 indifferent to them, thinking about him- 
 self as it is a capital sin in a parent to do ; 
 and both of them were right and both 
 wrong, as indeed may be said in every 
 case to which there are two sides. 
 
 " Ursula has come I" cried the two little 
 ones. Amy and Robin could read their 
 father's face better than they could read 
 these instruments of torture called printed 
 books, and they saw that he was in a 
 good humour, and that they were safe to 
 venture upon the playful liberty of seiz_- 
 ing him, one by each hand, and dragging 
 him in. He was a tall man, and the 
 sight of him triumphantly dragged in by 
 these imps, the youngest of whom was 
 about up to his knees, was pretty, and 
 would have gone to the heart of any 
 spectator. He was not himself uncon- 
 scious of this, and when he was in a good 
 humour, and the children were neat and 
 tolerably dressed he did not object to 
 being seen by the passers-by dragged
 
 PAPA. 193 
 
 up bis own steps by those two little ones. 
 The only passers-by, however, on this occa- 
 sion were a retired shopkeeper and his wife, 
 who had lately bought one of the oldest 
 houses in Grange Lane, and who had come 
 out for a walk as the day was fine. " Mark 
 my words, Tozer," the lady was saying, 
 " that's a good man though he's a church 
 parson. Them as children hangs on to 
 like that, ain't got no harm in them." 
 
 " He's a rum un, he is," said Mr. Tozer 
 in reply. It was a pity that the pretty spec- 
 tacle of the clergyman with his little boy and 
 girl should have been thus thrown away 
 upon a couple of Dissenters, yet it was not 
 without its effect. Amy pulled one arm 
 and Robin pulled the other. They were 
 dark haired children like all the Mays, and 
 as this peculiarity is rare among chil- 
 dren, it gave these two a certain piquancy. 
 
 "Well, well," he said, "take me to 
 Ursula," and after he had kissed his newly 
 arrived daughter, he sat down in the faded 
 
 vol. i. o
 
 194 PHOEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 drawing-room with much geniality, and 
 took one child on each knee. 
 
 " I hope you have enjoyed yourself, 
 Ursula," he said, " of course, we have 
 missed you. Janey has done her best, 
 but she is not very clever at housekeeping, 
 nor does she understand many things that 
 people require as you have learned to do." 
 
 " Oh, I am so glad you have missed 
 me !" said Ursula, " I mean sorry ; I have 
 enjoyed myself very very much. The 
 Dorsets were so kind, kinder than any- 
 body ever was before." 
 
 " And, papa, they have sent me a new 
 dress." 
 
 " And me too, papa," chirruped little 
 Amy on his knee. 
 
 " You too, Mouse ! it was very kind of 
 them ; and you went to the Tower and did 
 all the lions, Ursula ? that is the lot of 
 country cousins, and the Dorsets would 
 spare you nothing, I suppose." 
 
 66 We went to much better things," said 
 Ursula, producing her theatres and her
 
 PAPA. 195 
 
 ball as she had done before. "And, oh, 
 papa, I like them so much. I wish we 
 lived a little nearer. Those poor little 
 Indian children, I fear they will be too 
 much for cousin Anne ; they looked so pale 
 and so peevish, not like our children here." 
 
 " Well, they are not pale at all events,' ' 
 said Mr. May, putting them down, 
 " run and play like good children. You 
 will have heard that we have had some- 
 thing happening to us, even in this quiet 
 place while you were away." 
 
 " Oh, I was so astonished," said Ursula, 
 " but Reginald doesn't seem to like it. 
 That is so odd ; I should have thought he 
 would have been overjoyed to get some- 
 thing. He used to talk so about having 
 no interest." 
 
 "Reginald is like a great many other 
 people. He does not know his own 
 mind," said Mr. May, his countenance 
 overcasting. Ursula knew that sign of 
 coming storms well enough, but she was 
 too much interested to forbear. 
 
 o 2
 
 196 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 " What is a sinecure, papa ?" she asked, 
 her brother's last word still dwelling in 
 her mind. 
 
 " A piece of outrageous folly," he cried, 
 getting up and striding about the room, 
 ei all springiug from the foolish books boys 
 read nowadays, and the nonsense that is 
 put into their minds. Mean ! it means 
 that your brother is an ass, that is what it 
 means. After all the money that has been 
 spent upon him — " 
 
 " But, papa, we have not spent much, 
 have we ? I thought it was his scholar- 
 ship?" said Ursula with injudicious honesty. 
 Her father turned upon her indignantly. 
 
 " I am not aware that I said we. We 
 have nothing to spend upon anyone, so 
 far as I know. I said I — the only person 
 in the house who earns any money or 
 is likely to do so, if Reginald goes on in 
 this idiotical way." 
 
 Ursula grew red. She was Mr. May's 
 own daughter, and had a temper too. 
 " If I could earn any money I am sure I
 
 PAPA. 197 
 
 would," she cried, " and only too glad. 
 I am sure it is wanted badly enough. 
 But how is a girl to earn any money ? I 
 wish I knew how." 
 
 "You little fool, no one was thinking of 
 you. Do a little more in the house, and 
 nobody will ask you to earn money. Yes, 
 this is the shape things are taking nowa- 
 days," said Mr. May, " the girls are mad 
 to earn anyhow, and the boys, forsooth, 
 Jiave a hundred scruples. If women 
 would hold their tongues and attend to 
 their own business, I have no doubt we 
 should have less of the other nonsense. 
 The fact is everything is getting into an 
 unnatural state. But if Eeginald thinks 
 I am going to maintain him in idleness at 
 his age — " 
 
 " Papa, for heaven's sake don't speak 
 so loud, he will hear you !" said Ursula, 
 letting her fears of a domestic disturbance 
 overweigh her prudence. 
 
 " He will hear me ? I wish him to hear 
 me," said Mr. May, raising his voice.
 
 198 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 " Am I to be kept from saying what I like, 
 how I like, in my own house, for fear that 
 Eeginald should hear me, forsooth ! Ursula, 
 I am glad to have you at home ; but if you 
 take Reginald's part in his folly, and set 
 yourself against the head of the family, 
 you had better go back again and at once. 
 He may defy me, but I shall not be con- 
 tradicted by a chit of a girl, I give you my 
 word for that." 
 
 Ursula was silent ; she grew pale now 
 after her redness of hasty and uncon- 
 sidered self-defence. Oh, for Cousin Anne 
 to shield and calm her ; what a difference 
 it made to plunge back again thus into 
 trouble and strife. 
 
 " He thinks it better to be idle at his 
 father's expense than to do a little work 
 for a handsome salary," said Mr. May, 
 " everything is right that is extracted 
 from his father's pocket, though it is con- 
 trary to a high code of honour to accept 
 a sinecure. Fine reasoning that, is it 
 not ? The one wrongs nobody, while the
 
 PAPA. 199 
 
 other wrongs you and me and all the 
 children, who want every penny I have 
 to spend ; but Reginald is much too fine 
 to think of that. He thinks it quite 
 natural that I should go on toiling and 
 stinting myself." 
 
 " Papa, it may be very wrong what he 
 is doing ; but if you think he wants to 
 take anything from you — " 
 
 " Hold your tongue," said her father, 
 " I believe in deeds, not in words. He has 
 it in his power to help me, and he chooses 
 instead, for a miserable fantastic notion of 
 his own, to balk all my care for him. 
 Of course the hospital was offered to him 
 out of respect for me. No one cares for 
 him. He is about as much known in 
 Carlingford as — little Amy is. Of course 
 it is to show their respect to me. And here 
 he comes with his fantastic nonsense about 
 a sinecure ! Who is he that he should 
 make such a fuss ? Better men than he is 
 have held them, and will to the end of
 
 200 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 the chapter. A sinecure ! what does he 
 call a sinecure ?" 
 
 " That is just what I want to know," said 
 Ursula under her breath, but her father 
 did not, fortunately, hear this ejaculation. 
 Reginald had gone out, and happily was 
 not within hearing, and Mr. May calmed 
 down by degrees, and told Ursula various 
 circumstances about the parish and the 
 people which brought him down out of his 
 anger and comforted her after that passage 
 of arms. But the commotion left him in 
 an excitable state, a state in which he was 
 very apt to say things which were disagree- 
 able, and to provoke his children to wrath 
 in a way which Ursula thought was very 
 much against the scriptural rule. 
 
 " Things in the parish are going on 
 much as usual," he said, " Mrs. Sam 
 Hurst is as kind as ever." 
 
 "Indeed!" said Ursula with a sup- 
 pressed snort of anger. Mr. May gave 
 the kind of offensive laugh, doubly offen- 
 sive to every woman, which men give when
 
 PAPA. 201 
 
 their vanity is excited and when there is, 
 according to the common expression, a 
 lady in the case. 
 
 " Yes, she is very kind," he said with 
 a twinkle in his eye. " She has had the 
 children to tea a great many times since 
 you have been away. To show my sense 
 of her kindness, you must ask her one of 
 these days. A woman who understands 
 children is always a valuable friend for a 
 man in my position — and also, Ursula, 
 for a girl in yours." 
 
 " She may understand children, but 
 they are not fond of her," said Ursula, 
 with a gleam of malice which restored her 
 father to good humour. He had no more 
 idea of marrying a second time than of 
 flying. He was tenderly attached in his 
 way to his wife's memory, and quite suffi- 
 ciently troubled by the number of dwellers 
 in his house already ; but he rather liked 
 as a good looking man in his wane gene- 
 rally does, to think that he could marry 
 if he pleased, and to hold the possibility
 
 202 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 over the heads of his household, as a 
 chastisement of all their sins against him 
 which he could use at any time. All the 
 Mays grew hot and angry at the name of 
 Mrs. Sam Hurst, and their fear and anger 
 delighted their father. He liked to speak 
 of her to provoke them, and partly for 
 that, partly for other reasons of his own, 
 kept up a decorous semi- flirtation with his 
 neighbour who lived next door, and 
 thus excited the apprehensions and 
 resentment of the girls every day of their 
 lives. When Ursula thought of Mrs. Sam 
 Hurst she wished for the Dorsets no more. 
 It was above all things, she felt, her duty 
 to be here on the spot to defend the 
 family from that woman's machinations. 
 The idea put energy into her. She ceased 
 to be tired, ceased to feel herself "after 
 her journey," capable of nothing but sitting 
 still and hearing of all that had been done 
 since she went away. 
 
 In the course of the evening, however, 
 Ursula took advantage of a quiet moment
 
 papa. 203 
 
 to look up the dictionary and make herself 
 quite safe about the meaning of the word 
 sinecure. It was- not the first time she 
 had heard it, as may be supposed. She 
 had heard of lucky people who held sine- 
 cures, and she had heard them denounced 
 as evil things, but without entering closely 
 into the meaning. Now she had a more 
 direct interest in it, and it must be con- 
 fessed that she was not at all frightened 
 by the idea, or disposed to reject it as 
 Reginald did. Ursula had not learnt 
 much about public virtue, and to get a 
 good income for doing nothing, or next to 
 nothing, seemed to her an ideal sort of way 
 of getting one's livelihood. She wished 
 with a sigh that there were sinecures 
 which could be held by girls. But no, in 
 that as in other things " gentlemen" kept 
 all that was good to themselves ; and 
 Ursula was disposed to treat Reginald's 
 scruples with a very high hand. But she 
 did not choose that her father should at- 
 tack him with all these disagreeable
 
 204 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 speeches about maintaining him in idle- 
 ness, aud taunts about the money that 
 had been spent on his 5 - education. That 
 was not the way to manage him the girl 
 felt; but Ursula resolved to take her brother 
 in hand herself, to argue with him how 
 foolish it was, to point out to him that if 
 he did not take it some one else would, 
 and that the country would not gain any- 
 thing while he would lose, to laugh at his 
 over delicacy, to show him how delightful 
 it would be if he was independent, and 
 what a help to all his brothers and sisters. 
 In short it seemed quite simple to Ursula, 
 and she felt her path mapped out before 
 her, and triumphed in every stage of her 
 argument, inventing the very weakest 
 replies for Reginald to make. Full of the 
 inspiration of this purpose she felt that it 
 was in every way well that she had come 
 home. With Reginald settled close by, 
 going away no longer, standing by her in 
 her difficulties, and even perhaps, who 
 could tell ? taking her to parties, and
 
 papa. 205 
 
 affording her the means now and then of 
 asking two or three people to tea, the 
 whole horizon of her life brightened for 
 Ursula. She became reconciled to Car- 
 lingford. All that had to be done was to 
 show Reginald what his duty was, and 
 how foolish he was to hesitate, and she 
 could not allow herself to suppose that 
 when it was put before him properly there 
 could long remain much difficulty upon 
 that score.
 
 206 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 phcebe's peeparations. 
 
 A FEW days after Ursula's return home, 
 -*--*- another arrival took place in Car- 
 lingford. Phoebe Beecham, after consider- 
 ing the case fully, and listening with keen 
 interest to all the indications she could 
 pick up as to the peculiarities of her 
 grandfather's house, and the many things 
 in life at Carlingford which were " unlike 
 what she had been used to," had fully made 
 up her mind to dare the difficulties of that 
 unknown existence, and to devote herself 
 in her mother's place to the care of her 
 grandmother and the confusion of Mrs. 
 Tom. This was partly undertaken out of
 
 PREPARATIONS. 207 
 
 a sense of duty, partly out of that desire 
 for change and the unknown, which has 
 to content itself in many cases with the 
 very mildest provision, and partly because 
 Phoebe's good sense perceived the neces- 
 sity of the matter. She was by no means 
 sure what were the special circumstances 
 that made " Mrs. Tom " disagreeable to 
 her mother, but she was deeply sensible 
 of the importance of preventing Mrs. 
 Tom from securing to herself and her 
 family all that Mr. and Mrs. Tozer had 
 to leave. Phoebe was not mercenary in 
 her own person, but she had no idea of 
 giving up any " rights/' and she felt it of 
 the utmost importance that her brother, 
 who was unfortunately by no means so 
 clever as herself, should be fully provided 
 against all the contingencies of life. She 
 was not concerned about herself in that 
 particular. Phoebe felt it a matter of 
 course that she should marry and marry 
 well. Self-confidence of this assured and 
 tranquil sort serves a great many excellent
 
 208 PH(EBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 purposes — it made her even generous in 
 her way. She believed in her star, in her 
 own certain good-fortune, in herself; and 
 therefore her mind was free to think and 
 to work for other people. She knew very 
 well by all her mother said, and by all 
 the hesitations of both her parents, that 
 she would have many disagreeable things 
 to encounter in Carlingford, but she felt 
 so sure that nothing could really humi- 
 liate her, or pull her down from her real 
 eminence, that the knowledge conveyed no 
 fears to her mind. When this confidence in 
 her own superiority to all debasing influ- 
 ences is held by the spotless princess in 
 the poem it is the most beautiful of human 
 sentiments, and why it should not be 
 equally elevated when entertained by a 
 pink and plump modern young woman, 
 well up in all nineteenth century refine- 
 ments, and the daughter of the minister 
 of the Crescent Chapel, it would be hard 
 to say. Phoebe held it with the strongest 
 faith.
 
 PREPARATIONS. 
 
 209 
 
 " Their ways of thinking perhaps, and 
 their ways of living, are not those which 
 I have been used to," she said ; " but how 
 does that affect me ? I am myself what- 
 ever happens ; even if poor dear grand- 
 mamma's habits are not refined, which I 
 suppose is what you mean, mamma, that 
 does not make me unrefined. A lady 
 must always be a lady wherever she is — 
 Una," she continued, using strangely 
 enough the same argument which has oc- 
 curred to her historian, " is not less a 
 princess when she is living among the 
 satyrs. Of course, I am not like Una — 
 and neither are they like the wild people 
 in the wood." 
 
 Mrs. Beecham did not know much about 
 Una, except that she was somebody in a 
 book ; but she kissed her daughter, and 
 assured her that she was " a real comfort," 
 and devoted herself to her comfort for the 
 few days that remained, doing everything 
 that it was possible to do to show her 
 
 vol. I. p
 
 210 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 love, and, so to speak gratitude to the 
 good child who was thus throwing herself 
 into the breach. The Beechams were in no 
 want of money to buy what pleased them, 
 and the mother made many additions to 
 Phoebe's wardrobe, which that young lady 
 herself thought quite unnecessary, not 
 reflecting that other sentiments besides 
 that of sim pie love for herself were involved. 
 
 " They shall see that my daughter is not 
 just like one of their common-looking 
 girls," Mrs Beecham said to her husband ; 
 and he shared the feeling, though lie could 
 not but think within himself that her aspect 
 was of very much more importance than 
 the appearance of Phoebe Tozer's child 
 could possibly be as his daughter. 
 
 " You are quite right, my dear," he 
 replied, " those sort of vulgar people are 
 but too ready to look down upon a pastor's 
 family. They ought to be made to see 
 the difference." 
 
 The consequence of this was that 
 Phoebe was fitted out like a young princess
 
 PREPARATIONS. 
 
 211 
 
 going on her travels. Ursula May would 
 have been out of her wits with delight, 
 had half these fine things come her way ; 
 but Phoebe took them very calmly. 
 
 " I have never undervalued dress," she 
 said, " as some girls do ; I think it is a 
 very important social influence. And even 
 without that, mamma, so long as it pleases 
 you — " So with this mixture of philosophy 
 and affection all went well. 
 
 " We must call on Mrs. Copperhead 
 before you go; they would think it 
 strange, after all the interest they have 
 shown in us." 
 
 " Have they shown an interest in us?" 
 said Phoebe. " Of course we must call — 
 and Mrs. Copperhead is a lady, but as for 
 Mr. Copperhead, mamma — " 
 
 " Hush ! he is the leading member, and 
 very influential in the connection. A 
 pastor's family must not be touchy, Phoebe. 
 We must put up with a great many things. 
 There ought to be peace among brethren, 
 
 p 2
 
 212 
 
 you know, and harmony is the first thing 
 that is essential in a church — " 
 
 " I wonder if harmony would be as es- 
 sential, supposing Mr. Copperhead to come 
 to grief, mamma." 
 
 " Phoebe ! slang from you — who have 
 always set your face against it." 
 
 " What can one talk but slang when 
 one thinks of such a person ?" said Phoebe 
 gravely ; and thus saying she opened the 
 door for her mother, and they went out 
 in their best gowns to pay their visit. Mrs. 
 Copperhead was very civil to the pastor's 
 family. It was not in her to be uncivil 
 to anyone ; but in her soft heart she de- 
 spised them a little, and comported herself 
 to them with that special good behaviour, 
 and dignified restraint, which the best 
 natured people reserve for their inferiors. 
 For though she went to chapel, taken there 
 by Mr. Copperhead, she was "church" 
 at heart. The interest which Mrs. Beecham 
 took in everything, and the praises she be- 
 stowed on the ball, did not relax her cold-
 
 PREPARATIONS. 213 
 
 ness. They were too well off, too warm 
 and silken to call forth her sympathies, 
 and there was little in common between 
 them to afford any ground for meeting. 
 
 Yes, Mr. Copperhead was quite well — 
 she was quite well — her son was quite 
 well. She hoped Mr. Beecham was well. 
 She had heard that most people were 
 pleased with the ball, thank you. Oh, 
 Miss Beecham was going away— indeed ! 
 She hoped the weather would be good ; 
 and then Mrs. Copperhead sat erect upon 
 her sofa, and did not try to say any more. 
 Though she had not the heart of a mouse, 
 she too could play the great lady when 
 occasion served. Clarence, however, was 
 much more hospitable than his mother, 
 He liked Phoebe, who could talk almost as 
 if she was in society, as girls talk in novels. 
 He knew, of course, that she was not in 
 society, but she was a girl whom a fellow 
 could get on with, who had plenty to say 
 for herself, who was not a lay figure like 
 many youug ladies ; and then she was
 
 214 PHCEBE, JUNIOK. 
 
 pretty, pink, and golden, "a piece of 
 colour " which was attractive to the eye. 
 He soon found out where she was going, 
 and let her know that he himself intended 
 a visit to the neighbourhood. 
 
 " The Dorsets live near," he said. " Re- 
 lations of my mother's. You saw them at 
 the ball. I daresay you will meet them 
 somewhere about." This, it is to be feared, 
 Clarence said in something of his mother's 
 spirit, with a warm sense of superiority, 
 for he knew that the pastor's daughter 
 was very unlikely to meet the Dorsets. 
 Phoebe, however, was equal to the occa- 
 sion. 
 
 " I am not at all likely to meet them," 
 she said with a gracious smile. " For one 
 thing, I am not going to enjoy myself, but 
 to nurse a sick person. And sick people 
 don't go to parties. Besides, you know the 
 foolish prejudices of society, properly so 
 called. I think them foolish because they 
 affect me," said Phoebe, with engaging 
 frankness. " If they did not affect me,
 
 PREPARATIONS. 215 
 
 probably I should think them all right." 
 " What foolish prejudices?" said Clarence, 
 thinking she was about to say something 
 about her inferior position, and already 
 feeling flattered before she spoke. 
 
 "About Dissenters, you know," she 
 said, " of course, you must be aware that 
 we are looked down upon in society. It 
 does not matter, for when people have 
 any sense, as soon as they know us they 
 do us justice ; but of course you must 
 be aware that the prejudice exists." 
 
 Clarence did know, and with some bitter- 
 ness ; for Mr. Copperhead, though he did 
 not care much, perhaps, about religion, 
 cared for his chapel and stood by it with 
 unswerving strictness. His son, who was 
 an Oxford man, and respectful of all the 
 prejudices of society, did not like this. 
 But what could he do against the obsti- 
 nate dissentership of his father. This, 
 as much as anything else, had acted upon 
 the crowd the night of the ball, and made 
 them all nobodies. He hesitated to make
 
 216 PBCEBE, JUNIOE. 
 
 any reply, and his face flushed with shame 
 and displeasure. Phoebe felt that she had 
 avenged upon Clarence his mother's 
 haughty politeness. She had brought 
 home to him a sense of the social infe- 
 riority which was common to them both. 
 Having done this, she was satisfied, and 
 proceeded to soften the blow. 
 
 " It cannot fall upon you, who are in 
 so much better a position, as it does upon 
 us," said Phoebe. " We are the very head 
 and front of the offending, a Dissenting 
 minister's family ! — Society and its charms 
 are not for us. And I hope we know our 
 place," she said with mock humility, 
 " when people have any sense and come 
 to know us it is different ; and for the 
 foolish ones I don't care. But you see 
 from that, I am not likely to meet your 
 cousins, am I ?" she added with a laugh. 
 
 " If you mean that they are among the 
 foolish ones " 
 
 " Oh, no ; I don't. But you can't sup- 
 pose they will take the trouble to find me
 
 PREPARATIONS. 217 
 
 out. Why should they ? People entirely 
 out of my range, and that have nothing 
 to do with me. So you may be quite 
 sure I am right when I say we shan't 
 meet." 
 
 " Well," said Clarence, piqued, " I am 
 going to Easton, and T shall see you, 
 if Mrs. Beecham will give me permission 
 to call." 
 
 " She will give you the address along 
 with that; but till then, good-bye," said 
 Phoebe. To tell the truth, she had no 
 desire to see Clarence Copperhead in Car- 
 lingford. Perhaps, he meant something, 
 perhaps he did not — at this stage of the 
 proceedings it was a matter of indifference 
 to Phoebe, who certainly had not allowed 
 " her affections " to become engaged. If 
 he did mean anything, was it likely that 
 he could support unmoved the grandfather 
 and graud mother who were, or had been 
 " in trade ?" On the other hand, was it not 
 better that he should know the worst ? 
 Phoebe was no husband- hunter. She con-
 
 218 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 templated the issue with calm and com- 
 posure, however it might turn out. 
 
 " He asked me if he might call," said 
 Mrs. Beecham, in some excitement. " I 
 don't care much to have you seen, my 
 darling, out ofjpyour own father's house." 
 
 " Just as you please, mamma — just as 
 it suits best," said Phoebe, dismissing the 
 subject. She was not anxious. A good 
 deal depended on whether he meant any- 
 thing or nothing, but even that did not 
 conclude the subject, for she had not 
 made up her own mind. 
 
 " Why didn't you tell them about the 
 Mays?" said Clarence, as the two ladies 
 went out. " They live in Carlingford, and 
 I should think it would be pleasant on 
 both sides." 
 
 " My dear boy, you forget the differ- 
 ence of position," said Mrs. Copperhead. 
 " They are Dissenters." 
 
 " Oh, I like that," cried Clarence, half 
 angry, as himself sharing the disadvan- 
 tages of the connection. " A needy beggar
 
 PREPARATIONS. 2J9 
 
 like May has a great deal to stand upon. 
 I like that." 
 
 " But it is true all the same," said Mrs. 
 Copperhead, shaking her head. " And 
 you can see the difference at once. I 
 daresay Miss Beecham is a very clever 
 young woman, but between her and Miss 
 May what a difference there is ! Anyone 
 can see it — " 
 
 " I am afraid then I am stupid, for I 
 can't see it, mother. They are both 
 pretty girls, but for amusing you and that 
 sort of thing give me Phoebe. She is 
 worth twenty of the other. As sharp as 
 a needle, and plenty to say for herself. 
 That is the kind of girl I like." 
 
 " I am very sorry for it. I hope that 
 is not the kind of wife you will like," said 
 Mrs. Copperhead, with a sigh. 
 
 " Oh, wife ! they haven't a penny, 
 either the one or the other," said Clarence, 
 with delightful openness, " and we may be 
 sure that would not suit the governor even 
 if it suited me."
 
 220 PH(EBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 In the meantime Mrs. Beecham and 
 Phoebe were walking up the broad pave- 
 ment of Portland Place towards their 
 home. 
 
 " It is pleasant to see the mother and 
 the son together/' said Mrs. Beecham, 
 who was determined to see everything in 
 the best light that concerned the Copper- 
 heads. " They are so devoted to each 
 other, and Phoebe, dear — I don't like to 
 talk in this way to a sensible girl like you, 
 but you must see it with your own eyes. 
 You have certainly made a great impression 
 upon Clarence Copperhead. When he said 
 he hoped to see you in Carlingford, and 
 asked, might he call ? it was exactly like 
 asking my permission to pay you his 
 addresses ; it is very flattering, but it is 
 embarrassing as well." 
 
 " I do not feel particularly flattered, 
 mamma ; and I think if I were you I would 
 not give him the address." 
 
 Mrs. Beecham looked anxiously in her 
 daughter's face.
 
 PREPARATIONS. 221 
 
 " Is it from prudence, Phoebe, or is it 
 that you don't like him, that you wouldn't 
 have him if he asked you ?" 
 
 " We must wait till he does ask me," 
 said Phoebe, decisively. " Till then I 
 can't possibly tell. But I don't want him 
 at Carlingford. I know that grandpapa 
 and grandmamma are — in trade." 
 
 " Yes, dear," said Mrs. Beecham, in a 
 subdued voice. 
 
 " Dissenters, and in trade ; and he is 
 going to stay with the Dorsets, fine 
 county people. Don't give him the ad- 
 dress ; if we meet by chance, there is no 
 harm done. I am not ashamed of anyone 
 belonging to me. But you can say that 
 you don't think his father would like him 
 to be visiting me at Carlingford — which I 
 am sure would be quite true." 
 
 " Indeed he might go much farther 
 without finding anyone so well worth 
 visiting," said the mother, indignant, to 
 which Phoebe nodded her head in tranquil 
 assent.
 
 222 PHOEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 " That is neither here nor there," she 
 said, "you can always tell him so, and 
 that will please Mr. Copperhead, if ever 
 be comes to hear of it. He thought at 
 one time that I was too entertaining. 
 One knows what that means. I should 
 like him to see how little I cared." 
 
 " But, my dear, Clarence Copperhead 
 would be worth — a little attention. He 
 could give a girl — a very nice position," 
 Mrs. Beecham faltered, looking at her 
 daughter between every word. 
 
 " I am not saying anything against 
 Clarence Copperhead," said Phcebe, with 
 composure, " but I should like his dear 
 papa to know how little I care, and that 
 you have refused him my address." 
 
 This was all she said on the subject. 
 Phcebe was quite ready to allow that 
 Clarence was everything that her mother 
 had said, and she had fully worked out 
 her own theory on marriage, which will 
 probably be hereafter expounded in these 
 pages, so that she was not at all shocked
 
 PREPARATIONS. 223 
 
 by having his advantages thus pointed out 
 to her. But there was no hurry, she said 
 to herself. If it was not Clarence Copper- 
 head, it would be some one else, and why 
 should she, at this early stage of her 
 career, attempt to precipitate the designs of 
 Providence ? She had plenty of time before 
 her, and was in no hurry for any change ; 
 and a genuine touch of nature in her 
 heart made her anxious for an opportunity 
 of showing her independence to that arro- 
 gant and offensive "leading member," 
 who made the life of the office-bearers in 
 the Crescent a burden to them. If she 
 could only so drive him into a corner, 
 that he should be obliged to come to her 
 in his despair, and beg her to accept his 
 son's hand to save him from going off in 
 a galloping consumption, that would have 
 been a triumph after Phoebe's heart. To 
 be sure this was a perfectly vain and 
 wildly romantic hope — it was the only bit 
 of wild and girlish romance in the bosom 
 of a very well-educated, well-intentioned
 
 224 PHOEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 and sensible young woman. She had seen 
 her parents put up with the arrogance 
 of the millionaire for a long time without 
 rebelling any more than they did; but 
 Mr. Copperhead had gone further than 
 Phcebe could bear ; and thoroughly as she 
 understood her own position, and all its 
 interests, this one vain fancy had found a 
 footing in her mind. If she could but 
 humble him and make him sue to her. 
 It was not likely, but for such a triumph 
 the sensible Phoebe would have done much. 
 It was the one point on which she was 
 silly, but on that she was as silly as any 
 cynic could desire. 
 
 And thus with a huge trunk full of 
 charming dresses, a dressing-case fit for 
 any bride, the prettiest travelling costume 
 imaginable, and everything about her fit, 
 Mrs. Beecham fondly thought, for a duke's 
 daughter, Phoebe junior took her de- 
 parture, to be the comfort of her grand- 
 mamma, and to dazzle Carlingford. Her 
 fond parents accompanied her to the
 
 PREPARATIONS. 225 
 
 station and placed her in a carriage, and 
 feed a guard heavily to take care of and 
 watch over her. " Not but that Phoebe 
 might be safely trusted to take care of 
 herself anywhere," they said. In which 
 expression of their pride in their daughter, 
 the observant reader may see a proof of 
 their own origin from the humbler classes. 
 They would probably have prided them- 
 selves on her timidity and helplessness had 
 they been a little better born. 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 GKANGE LANE. 
 
 II TR. and Airs. Tozer had retired from 
 -*-*-*- business several years before. They 
 had given up the shop with its long esta- 
 blished connection, and all its advantages, 
 to Tom, their son, finding themselves to 
 have enough to live upon in ease, and 
 indeed luxury; and though Mrs. Tozer 
 found the house in Grange Lane shut in 
 by the garden walls to be much duller 
 than her rooms over the shop in High 
 Street, where she saw everything that was 
 going on, yet the increase in gentility was 
 unquestionable. The house which they 
 were fortunate enough to secure in this
 
 CHANGE LANE. 
 
 22' 
 
 desirable locality, had been once in the 
 occupation of Lady Weston, and there 
 was accordingly an aroma of high life 
 about it, although somebody less important 
 had lived in it in the meantime, and it had 
 fallen into a state of considerable dilapi- 
 dation, which naturally made it cheaper. 
 Mr. Tozer had solidly repaired all that was 
 necessary for comfort, but he had not 
 done anything in those external points of 
 paint and decoration, which tell so much 
 in the aspect of a house. Lady Weston's 
 taste had been florid, and the walls con- 
 tinued as she had left them, painted and 
 papered with faded wreaths which were 
 apt to look dissipated, as they ought to 
 have been refreshed and renewed years 
 before. But outside, where the wreaths 
 do not fade, there was a delightful garden 
 charmingly laid out, in which Lady Wes- 
 ton had once held her garden parties, and 
 where the crocuses and other spring bulbs, 
 which had been put in with a lavish hand, 
 during Lady Weston's extravagant reign, 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 PHCEBE, JUNIOE. 
 
 had already begun to blow. The violets were 
 peeping out from among their leaves on a 
 sheltered bank, and Christmas roses, over- 
 blown, making a great show with their 
 great white stars, in a corner. Tozer him- 
 self soon took a great interest in this little 
 domain out of doors, and was for ever 
 pottering about the flowers, obeying, with 
 the servility of ignorance, the gardener's 
 injunctions. Mrs. Tozer, however, who 
 was in weak health, and consequently per- 
 mitted to be somewhat cross and contra- 
 dictory, regretted the High Street. 
 
 " Talk of a garden," she said, " a thing 
 as never changes except according to the 
 seasons ! Up in the town there was never 
 a day the same, something always hap- 
 pening — Soldiers marching through, or 
 Punch and Judy, or a row at the least. 
 It is the cheerfullest place in the whole 
 world, I do believe ; shut up here may do 
 for the gentry, but I likes the streets and 
 what's going on. You may call me vulgar if 
 you please, but so I do."
 
 GRANGE LANE. 229 
 
 Tozer prudently said nothing to such 
 outbursts except a soothing exhortation 
 to wait till summer, when she would find 
 the benefit of the fresh air, not to speak 
 of the early vegetables ; and he himself 
 found the garden an unspeakable resource. 
 At first, indeed, he would stroll up to the 
 shop of a morning, especially if any new 
 consignment of first rate York hams, or 
 cheese, was coming in, which he loved to 
 turn over and test by smell and touch ; 
 but by and by the ancient butterman 
 made a discovery, such as we are all apt to 
 make when we get old and step out of the 
 high road of life. He found out that his 
 son did not appreciate his advice, and that 
 Mrs. Tom cared still less for his frequent 
 appearances. Indeed, he himself once saw 
 her bounce out of the shop as he entered, 
 exclaiming audibly, " Here's that fussy old 
 man again." Tozer was an old man it is true, 
 but nobody (under eighty) cares to have 
 the epithet flung in his teeth ; and to be 
 in the way is always unpleasant. He had
 
 230 POCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 self-command enough to say nothing about 
 it, except in a very modified shape to his 
 wife, who was ready enough to believe 
 anything unpleasant about Mrs. Tom ; but 
 he took to gardening with ardour from 
 that day ; and learned all about the suc- 
 cession of the flowers, and how long one 
 set lasted, and which kind should be put 
 into the ground next. He would even 
 take off his coat and do a tolerable day's 
 work under the gardener's direction, to 
 the great advantage of his health and tem- 
 per, while Mrs. Tozer grumbled upstairs. 
 She was getting more and more helpless 
 about the house, unable to see after the 
 stout maid-of-all-work, who in her turn 
 grumbled much at the large house, for 
 which one maid was not enough. Many 
 altercations took place in consequence be- 
 tween the mistress and servant. 
 
 " The ungrateful hussy hasn't even as 
 many rooms to do as she had in the High 
 Street, when there was the 'prentices' 
 beds to make," Mrs. Tozer said indig-
 
 GRANGE LANE. 231 
 
 nantly to her husband ; but Jane on her 
 side pointed to the length of passage, the 
 stairs, the dining and drawing-rooms, 
 where there had once only been a parlour. 
 
 " Cook and 'ousemaid's little enough," 
 said Jane ; " there did ought to be a man in 
 this kind of 'ouse; but as there's only two 
 in family, I shouldn't say nothing if I had 
 a girl under me." 
 
 Things were gravitating towards this girl 
 at the time of Phoebe's arrival; but nothing 
 had as yet been finally decided upon. Jane, 
 however, had bestirred herself to get the 
 young lady's room ready with something 
 like alacrity. A young person coming to 
 the house promised a little movement and 
 change, which was always something, and 
 Jane had no doubt that Phoebe would be 
 on her side in respect to the " girl." 
 " She'll want waiting upon, and there'll 
 always be sending of errands," Jane said 
 to herself. She knew by experience "what 
 young 'uns is in a house." 
 
 There was something, perhaps, in all
 
 232 PHCEBE, JUSIOE. 
 
 the preparations for her departure which 
 had thrown dust in Phoebe Beecham's 
 eyes. She had been too sharp-sighted not. 
 to see into her mother's qualms and hesi- 
 tations about her visit to Carlingford, and 
 the repeated warnings of both parents as 
 to the " difference from what she had been 
 accustomed to;" aud she thought she had 
 fully prepared herself for what she was to 
 encounter. But probably the elaborate 
 outfit provided by her mother, and the 
 importance attached to her journey had 
 to some degree obliterated this impression, 
 for it is certain that when Phcebe saw an 
 old man in a shabby coat, with a wisp of a 
 large white neckcloth round his throat, 
 watching anxiously for the arrival of the 
 train as it came up, she sustained a shock 
 which she had not anticipated. It was 
 about five years since she had seen her 
 grandfather, an interval due to hazard 
 rather than purpose, though, on the whole, 
 the elder Beechams had not been sorry to 
 keep their parents and their children apart.
 
 GRANGE LANE. 233 
 
 Phoebe, however, knew her grandfather 
 perfectly well as soon as she saw him, 
 though he had not perceived her, and was 
 wandering anxiously up and down in 
 search of her. She held back in her 
 corner for the moment, to overcome the 
 shock. Yes, there could be no doubt 
 about it; there he was, he whom she was 
 going to visit, under whose auspices she 
 was about to appear in Carlingford. He 
 was not even like an old Dissenting minis- 
 ter, which had been her childish notion of 
 him. He looked neither more nor less 
 than what he was, an old shopkeeper, very 
 decent and respectable, but a little shabby 
 and greasy, like the men whose weekly 
 bills she had been accustomed to pay for 
 her mother. She felt an instant conviction 
 that he would call her " Ma'am," if she 
 went up to him, and think her one of the 
 quality. Poor Phoebe ! she sat back in her 
 corner and gave a gasp of horror and dis- 
 may, but, having done this, she was herself 
 again. She gave her head a shake, like
 
 234 PHOEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 one who is about to take a plunge, rose 
 lightly to her feet, took up her bag, and 
 stepped out of the carriage, just as Mr. 
 Tozer strolled anxiously past for the third 
 time. 
 
 " Grandpapa !" she cried with a smile. 
 Mr. Tozer was almost as much taken 
 aback by this apparition as Phoebe her- 
 self had been. He knew that his daughter 
 had made great strides in social elevation, 
 and that her children, when he had seen 
 them last, had been quite like " gentle- 
 folks' children ;" but to see this young 
 princess step forth graciously out of a 
 first-class carriage, and address him as 
 " Grandpapa," took away his breath. 
 
 " Why — why — why, Miss ! you ain't 
 little Phoebe ?" he cried, scared out of his 
 seven senses, as he afterwards said. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, I am little Phoebe," she 
 said, coming up and kissing him dutifully. 
 She was half-disgusted, he half- frightened ; 
 but yet it was right, and Phoebe did it. 
 " T have only two boxes and a bag," she
 
 GKANGE LANE. 235 
 
 said, " besides my dressing-case. If you 
 will get a cab, grandpapa, I will go and 
 see after the luggage." 
 
 Old Tozer thought he could have carried 
 the bag himself, and left the boxes to fol- 
 low ; but he succumbed humbly and obeyed. 
 
 " She don't seem a bit proud," he "said 
 to himself ; " but, good Lord, what'll she 
 ever say to my old woman ?" 
 
 He saw the contrast very clearly be- 
 tween his wife and this splendid grand- 
 child. It did not strike him so much in 
 his own case. 
 
 " How is grandmamma ?" said Phcebe, 
 blandly ; " better, I hope ? Mamma was 
 so sorry not to come herself; but you 
 know, of course, she has a great many 
 things to do. People in town are obliged 
 to keep up certain appearances. You are 
 a great deal better off in the country, 
 grandpapa." 
 
 " Lord bless you, my dear, do you call 
 Carlingford the country ?" said Mr. Tozer. 
 " That is all you know about it. Your
 
 236 PHOEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 granny and I are humble folks, but the 
 new minister at Salem is one as keeps up 
 appearances with the best. Your mother 
 was always inclined for that. I hope she 
 has not brought you up too fine for the 
 likes of us." 
 
 " I hope not, indeed," said Phoebe. 
 " No fear of my being too fine for my 
 duty, grandpapa. Do you live down this 
 nice road ? How pretty it is ! how delight- 
 ful these gardens must be in summer. I 
 beg your pardon for calling it the country. 
 It is so quiet and so nice, it seems the 
 country to me." 
 
 " Ah, to be sure ; brought up in the 
 London smoke," said Mr. Tozer. " I 
 don't suppose, now, you see a bit of green 
 from year's end to year's end ? Very bad 
 for the 'ealth, that is ; but I can't say you 
 look poorly on it. Your colour's fresh, so 
 was your mother's before you. To be 
 sure, she wasn't cooped up like you," 
 
 " Oh, we do get a little fresh air some- 
 times — in the parks, for instance," said
 
 GEANGE LANE. 237 
 
 Phoebe. She was somewhat piqued by the 
 idea that she was supposed to live in 
 London smoke. 
 
 " Ah, the parks are always something ; 
 but I suppose it takes you a day's journey 
 to get at them," said Mr. Tozer, shaking 
 his head. " You mustn't mind your grand- 
 mother's temper just at first, my dear. 
 She's old, poor soul, and she ain't well, 
 and she's sometimes cross above a bit. 
 But she'll be that proud of you, she won't 
 know if she's on her 'eels or 'er 'ead ; and 
 as for a cross word now and again, I hope 
 as you won't mind — " 
 
 " I shan't mind anything, grandpapa," 
 said Phoebe, sweetly, " so long as I can 
 be of use." 
 
 And these were, indeed, the dutiful sen- 
 timents with which she made her entry 
 upon this passage in her life, not minding 
 anything but to be of use. The first 
 glimpse of old Tozer, indeed, made it 
 quite evident to Phoebe that nothing but 
 duty could be within her reach. Pleasure,
 
 238 PHCEBB, JUNIOR. 
 
 friends, society, the thought of all such 
 delights must be abandoned. And as for 
 Clarence Copperhead and the Miss Dor- 
 sets, the notion of meeting or receiving 
 them was too absurd. But Duty re- 
 mained, and Phoebe felt herself capable of 
 the sacrifice demanded from her. That 
 confidence in herself which we have already 
 indicated as a marked feature in her cha- 
 racter, gave her the consoling certainty 
 that she could not suffer from association 
 with her humble relations. Whosoever 
 saw her must do her justice, and that 
 serene conviction preserved her from all 
 the throes of uneasy pride which afflict 
 inferior minds in similar circumstances. 
 She had no wish to exhibit her grand- 
 father and grandmother in their lowliness, 
 nor to be ostentatious of her homely 
 origin, as some people are in the very 
 soreness of wounded pride ; but if hazard 
 produced the butterman in the midst 
 of the finest of her acquaintances, Phoebe 
 would still have been perfectly at her ease.
 
 GRANGE LANE. 239 
 
 She would be herself, whatever happened. 
 
 In the meantime, however, it was appa- 
 rent that Duty was what she had to look 
 to ; Duty, and that alone. She had come 
 here, not to amuse herself, not to please 
 herself, but to do her duty ; and having 
 thus concluded upon her object, she felt 
 comparatively happy, and at her ease. 
 
 Mrs. Tozer had put on her best cap, 
 which was a very gorgeous creation. She 
 had dressed herself as if for a party, with 
 a large brooch, enclosing a curl of various 
 coloured hair cut from the heads of her 
 children in early life, which fastened a 
 large worked collar over a dress of copper- 
 coloured silk, and she rustled and shook a 
 good deal as she came downstairs into the 
 garden to meet her grandchild, with some 
 excitement and sense of the " difference " 
 which could not but be felt on one side as 
 well as on the other. She, too, was some- 
 what frightened by the appearance of the 
 young lady, who was her Phoebe's child, 
 yet was so unlike any other scion of the
 
 240 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 Tozer race ; and felt greatly disposed to 
 curtsey and say " Ma'am " to her. 
 
 " You've grown a deal and changed a 
 deal since I saw you last," she said, re- 
 straining this impression, and receiving 
 Phoebe's kiss with gratified, yet awe- 
 struck feeling; and then her respectful 
 alarm getting too much for her, she added, 
 faltering, " You'll find us but humble 
 folks; perhaps not altogether what you've 
 been used to — " 
 
 Phoebe did not think it expedient to 
 make any reply to this outburst of hu- 
 mility. 
 
 " Grandmamma, I am afraid you have 
 over-exerted yourself, coming downstairs 
 to meet me," she said, taking the old 
 lady's hand, and drawing it within her 
 arm. " Yes, I have grown ; I am tall 
 enough to be of some use ; but you must 
 not treat me as if I were a stranger. Xo, 
 no ; never mind my room. I am not tired ; 
 the journey is nothing. Let me take you 
 back to your chair and make you comfort-
 
 GRANGE LANE. 241 
 
 able. I feel myself quite at home already. 
 The only odd thing is that I have never 
 been here before." 
 
 "Ah, my dear, your mother thought 
 too much of you to send you to the likes 
 of us ; that's the secret of it. She was 
 always fond of fine folks, was my Phoebe ; 
 and I don't blame her, bringing you up 
 quite the lady, like she's done." 
 
 " You must, not find fault with mamma," 
 said Phoebe, smiling. " What a nice cozy 
 room ! This is the dining-room, I sup- 
 pose; and here is your cushion, and your 
 footstool at this nice window. How plea- 
 sant it is, with the crocuses in all the 
 borders already ! I am not at all tired ; 
 but I am sure it must be tea-time, and I 
 should so like a cup of tea." 
 
 "We thought," said Mrs. Tozer, "as 
 perhaps you mightn't be used to tea at 
 this time of day." 
 
 " Oh, it is the right time ; it is the 
 fashionable hour," said Phoebe; "every- 
 body has tea at five. I will run upstairs 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 PHOEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 first, and take off my hat, and make my- 
 self tidy. Jane — is that her name ? — don't 
 trouble, grandmamma ; Jane will show me 
 the way." 
 
 " Well ?" said Mr. Tozer to Mrs. Tozer, 
 as Phoebe disappeared. The two old people 
 looked at each other with a little awe ; but 
 she, as was her nature, took the most 
 depressing view. She shook her head. 
 
 " She's a deal too fine for us, Tozer," 
 she said. " She'll never make herself 'appy 
 in our quiet way. Phoebe's been and brought 
 her up quite the lady. It ain't as her dress 
 is much matter. I'd have given her a silk 
 myself, and never thought of it twice; and 
 something lively like for a young person, 
 'stead of that grey stuff, as her mother 
 might wear. But all the same, she ain't 
 one of our sort. She'll never make herself 
 'appy with you and me." 
 
 " Well," said Tozer, who was more 
 cheerful, " she ain't proud, not a bit; 
 and as for manners, you don't pay no 
 more for manners. She came up and give
 
 GRANGE LANE. 243 
 
 me a kiss in the station, as affectionate as 
 possible. All I can say for her is as she 
 ain't proud." 
 
 Mrs. Tozer shook her head; but even 
 while she did so, pleasanter dreams stole 
 into her soul. 
 
 " I hope I'll be well enough to get to 
 chapel on Sunday," she said, " just to see 
 the folks' looks. The minister needn't 
 expect much attention to his sermon. 
 1 There's Phoebe Tozer's daughter !' they'll 
 all be saying, and a-staring, and a-whisper- 
 ing. It ain't often as anything like her is 
 seen in chapel, that's a fact," said the old 
 lady, warming into the exultation of natural 
 pride. 
 
 Phoebe, it must be allowed, had a good 
 cry when she got within the shelter of her 
 own room, which had been very carefully 
 prepared for her, with everything that was 
 necessary for comfort, according to her 
 grandmother's standard ; but where the 
 " tent " bed hung with old-fashioned red 
 and brown chintz, and the moreen curtains 
 
 n 2
 
 244 PH(EBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 drooping over the window, and the gigantic 
 flowers on the carpet, made Phoebe's soul 
 sick within her. Notwithstanding all her 
 courage, her heart sank. She had ex- 
 pected " a difference," but she had not 
 looked for her grandfather's greasy coat 
 and wisp of neckcloth, or her grand- 
 mother's amazing cap, or the grammatical 
 peculiarities in which both indulged. She 
 had a good hot fit of crying, and for the 
 moment felt so discouraged and depressed, 
 that the only impulse in her mind was to 
 run away. But her temperament did not 
 favour panics, and giving in was not in 
 her. If somebody must do it, why should 
 not she do it ? she said to herself. How 
 many times had she heard in sermons and 
 otherwise that no one ought to look for 
 the sweet without the bitter, and that 
 duty should never be avoided or refused 
 because it is unpleasant ? Now was the 
 time to put her principles to the test ; 
 and the tears relieved her, and gave her 
 something of the feeling of a martyr, which
 
 GRANGE LANE. 245 
 
 is always consolatory and sweet ; so she 
 dried her eyes, and bathed her face, and 
 went downstairs cheerful and smiling, re- 
 solved that, at all costs, her duty should 
 be done, however disagreeable it mi^ht be. 
 What a good thing the new fashion of five 
 o'clock tea is for people who have connec- 
 tions in an inferior path of life who make 
 tea a meal, and don't dine, or dine in the 
 middle of the day ! This was the thought 
 that passed through Phoebe's mind as she 
 went into the dining-room, and found the 
 table covered, not to say groaning under 
 good things. She took her place at it, 
 and poured out tea for the old people, 
 and cut bread-and-butter with the most 
 gracious philosophy. Duchesses did the 
 same every day ; the treatable had re- 
 newed its ancient sway, even in fashion- 
 able life. It cannot be told what a help 
 and refreshment this thought was to 
 Phoebe's courageous heart.
 
 246 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE TOZER FAMILY. 
 
 WHEN Phoebe woke next morning, 
 under the huge flowers of the 
 old-fashioned cotton drapery of her 
 " tent " bed, to see the faint daylight 
 struggle in through the heavy curtains 
 which would not draw back from the 
 window, the discouragement of her first 
 arrival for a moment overpowered her 
 ap-ain — and with even more reason — for 
 she had more fully ascertained the re- 
 sources of the place in which she found 
 herself. There were no books, except 
 some old volumns of sermons and a few 
 back numbers of the Congregational
 
 THE TOZER FAMILY. 247 
 
 Magazine, no visitors, so far as she could 
 make out, no newspaper but the Carling- 
 fbrd Weekly Gazette, nothing but her 
 grandmother's gossip about the chapel 
 and Mrs. Tom to pass the weary hours 
 away. Even last night Mrs. Tozer had 
 asked her whether she had not any work 
 to beguile the long evening, which Phoebe 
 occupied much more virtuously, from her 
 own point of view, in endeavouring to 
 amuse the old people by talking to them. 
 Though it was morning, and she ought 
 to have been refreshed and encouraged 
 by the repose of the night, it was again 
 with a few hot tears that Phcebe contem- 
 plated her prospects. But this was only 
 a passing weakness. When she went down 
 to breakfast, she was again cheerful as the 
 crocuses that raised their heads along the 
 borders with the promise of summer in 
 them. The sun was shining, the sky was 
 frosty, but blue. After all her present 
 sufferings could not endure for ever. 
 Phcebe hurried to get dressed, to get her
 
 248 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 blue fingers warmed by the dining-room 
 fire. It is needless to say that there was no 
 fire, or thought of a fire in the chilly 
 room with its red and brown hangings 
 in which Mrs. Tozer last night had 
 hoped she would be happy. " No fear 
 of that, grandmamma," she had an- 
 swered cheerfully. This was as much 
 a lie, she felt, as if it had been said 
 with the wickedest intentions — was it as 
 wrong? How cold it was, and yet how 
 stifling ! She could scarcely fasten the 
 ribbon at her neck, her fingers were so 
 cold. 
 
 " Yes, grandpapa, it is brighter than in 
 London. We don't live in the city, you 
 know. We live in rather a pretty neigh- 
 bourhood looking out on Regent's Park, 
 but it is seldom so bright as the country. 
 Sometimes the fog blows up our way, 
 when the wind is in the east ; but it is 
 warmer I think," said Phoebe, with a little 
 shiver, stooping over the dining-room 
 fire.
 
 THE TOZER FAMILY. 
 
 249 
 
 "Ah!" said Mrs. Tozer, shaking her 
 head, " it's your mother as has spoilt you, 
 I don't make no doubt, with fires and 
 things. That takes the hardiness out of 
 young folks. A little bit of cold is whole- 
 some, it stirs up the blood. Them as is 
 used to fires is always taking cold. One 
 good fire in the sitting-room, that's always 
 been my principle, and them as is cold if 
 they can't warm theirselves with movin' 
 about, which is far the best, let them 
 come and warm their fingers when they 
 pleases — as you may be doing now." 
 
 "Perhaps it is a very good principle, 
 grandmamma," said Phoebe, " when one 
 is used to it ; but the country is colder 
 than town. Where there are fires on every 
 side you must have more warmth than in 
 a detached house like this. But it is only 
 my hands after all. Shall I make the 
 tea ?" 
 
 " You should wear mittens like me — I 
 always did in the High Street, especial 
 when I was going and coming to the shop,
 
 250 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 helping serve, when the children were 
 young and I had the time for it. Ah ! 
 we've done with all that now. We're 
 more at our ease, but I can't say as we're 
 much happier. A shop is a cheerful sort 
 of thing. I daresay your mother has told 
 you-" 
 
 " No," said Phoebe, under her breath ; 
 but the reply was not noticed. She 
 nearly dropped the teapot out of her 
 hand when she heard the word — Shop ! 
 Yes to be sure, that was what being " in 
 trade " meant, but she had never quite 
 realized it till now. Phcebe was going 
 through a tremendous piece of mental 
 discipline in these first days. She writhed 
 secretly, and moaned to herself — why did 
 not mamma tell me ? but she sat quite 
 still outside, and smiled as if it was all 
 quite ordinary and natural, and she had 
 heard about the shop all her life. It 
 seemed cruel and unkind to have sent her 
 here without distinct warning of what she 
 was going to meet. But Phcebe was a
 
 THE TOZER FAMILY. £51 
 
 good girl, and would not blame her father 
 and mother. No doubt they meant it " for 
 the best." 
 
 " Is uncle Tom," she said, faltering 
 somewhat, "in the — shop now ?" 
 
 " If I'm able," said Mrs. Tozer, " I'll 
 walk that far with von this morning — or 
 Tozer, I mean your grandfather, will go. 
 It's a tidy house o' business, though I say 
 it as shouldn't, seeing it was him and me 
 as made it all; though I don't hold with 
 Mrs. Tom's nonsense about the new 
 windows. Your uncle Tom is as innocent 
 as innocent, but as for her, she ain't no 
 favourite of mine, and I makes no bones 
 about saying so, I don't mind who hears." 
 
 " She ain't so bad as you make her out," 
 said Tozer. " She's kind enough in her 
 way. Your grandmother is a-going to 
 show you off — that's it, my dear. She 
 can't abide Tom's wife, and she wants to 
 show her as you're far finer than her girls. 
 I don't say no. It's nat'ral, and I'm not 
 one as stands against nature; but don't
 
 252 PHCEBE, JUNIOE. 
 
 you be prejudiced by my old woman there. 
 She is a prejudiced one. Nothing in the 
 world will make her give up a notion when 
 she's took it into her head." 
 
 " No, nothing ; and ain't I always right 
 in the end ? I should think you've proved 
 that times enough," said the old woman. 
 "Yes, ..I'll take a little, my dear, since 
 you press me so pretty. Folks take many 
 a thing when they're pressed as they 
 wouldn't touch if there was no one to say, 
 take a bit. Tozer he never thinks of that ; 
 he's always had the best o' appetites ; but 
 as for me, if T gets a cup o' tea that's all 
 as T cares for. You'll see as she'll take 
 my view, when she's once been to the 
 High Street. She's her mother's daugh- 
 ter, and Phoebe can't abide that woman, 
 no more than me." 
 
 " Have they got many children?" said 
 Phoebe. " I know there are two girls, 
 but as I have never seen them — Are they 
 as old as I am ?" she asked, with a tremu- 
 lous feeling at her heart. If there were
 
 THE TOZER FAMILY. 253 
 
 girls in the shop in the High Street, with 
 whom she would have to be on familiar 
 terms, as her cousins and equals, Phoebe 
 did not feel that she could put up with 
 that. 
 
 " The eldest, Polly, is only twelve," said 
 Tozer, " but never you mind, my dear, 
 for you shan't be without company. There's 
 a deal of families with daughters like your- 
 self. Your grandmother won't say no- 
 thing against it ; and as for me, I think 
 there's nought so cheery as young folks. 
 You shall have a fire in the drawing-room, 
 and as many tea-parties as you like. For 
 the young men, I can't say as there's many, 
 but girls is plenty, and as long as you're 
 content with that—" 
 
 Mrs. Tozer regarded him with withering 
 contempt across the table. 
 
 "You're clever ones, you men," she 
 said. " Families with daughters ! Do you 
 think the Greens and the Robbins is com- 
 pany for her ? I daresay as you've heard 
 your mother speak of Maria Pigeon, my
 
 254 PH(EBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 dear ? She married John Green the grocer, 
 and very well to do and respectable they 
 may be, but nobody but the likes of your 
 grandfather would think of you and them 
 making friends." 
 
 " Indeed T don't care for making 
 friends," said Phoebe, " you must remem- 
 ber that I came not for society, but to wait 
 upon you, dear grandmamma. I don't 
 want young friends. At home I always 
 go out with my mother ; let me take walks 
 with you, when you are able. I am glad 
 Uncle Tom's children are little. I don't 
 want company. My work — and the gar- 
 den — and to sit with grandmamma, that 
 is all I care for. I shall be as happy as 
 the day is long," said this martyr, smiliDg 
 benignly over the aches in her heart. 
 
 Her grandparents looked at her with 
 ever-growing pride. Was not this the 
 ideal young woman, the girl of the story- 
 books, who cared about nothing but her 
 duty ? 
 
 " That's very nice of you, my dear ;
 
 THE TOZBR FAMILY. 255 
 
 but you ain't going to hide yourself up in 
 a corner," said Tozer. And, " Never 
 fear I'll take her wherever it's fit for her to 
 go to," his wife added, looking at her 
 with pride. Phoebe felt, in addition to all 
 the rest, that she was to be made a show 
 of to all the connection, as a specimen of 
 what the Tozer blood could come to, and 
 she did not even feel sure that something of 
 the same feeling had not been in her mother's 
 bosom when she fitted her out so perfectly. 
 Phoebe Tozer had left contemporaries and 
 rivals in Carlingford, and the thought of 
 dazzling and surpassing them in her off- 
 spring as in her good fortune had still some 
 sweetness for her mind. " Mamma meant 
 it too !" Phoebe junior said to herself with 
 a sigh. Unfortunately for her, she did 
 everybody credit who belonged to her, 
 and she must resign herself to pay the 
 penalty. Perhaps there was some com- 
 pensation in that thought. 
 
 And indeed Phoebe did not wonder at 
 her grandmother's pride when she walked
 
 256 PHCEBE, JUNIOE. 
 
 up with her to High Street, supporting 
 her on her arm. She recognised frankly 
 that there were not many people like her- 
 self about, few who had so much the air of 
 good society, and not one who was so well 
 dressed. There were excuses to be made 
 then for the anxiety of the old people to 
 produce her in the little world which was 
 everything to them, and with her usual can- 
 dour and good sense she acknowledged this, 
 though she winced a little when an occa- 
 sional acquaintance drifted across Mrs. 
 Tozer's path, and was introduced with 
 pride to "my granddaughter," and thrust 
 forth an ungloved hand, with an exclama- 
 tion of, " Lord bless us, Phoebe's eldest ! 
 I hope I see you well, Miss." Phcebe 
 continued urbane, though it cost her many 
 a pang. She had to keep on a perpetual 
 argument with herself as she went along 
 slowly, holding up her poor grandmother's 
 tottering steps. " If this is what we have 
 really sprung from, this is my own class, and 
 I ought to like it ; if I don't like it, it must be
 
 THE TOZER FAMILY. 257 
 
 my fault. I have no right to feel myself 
 better than they are. It is not position 
 that makes any difference, but individual 
 character," Phoebe said to herself. She 
 got as much consolation out of this as 
 is to be extracted from such rueful argu- 
 ments in general; but it was after all 
 indifferent comfort, and had not her tem- 
 perament given her a strong hold of her- 
 self, and power of subduing her impulses, 
 it is much to be feared that Phoebe would 
 have dropped her grandmother's arm as 
 they approached the station, and run 
 away. She did waver for a moment as 
 she came in sight of it. On that side lay 
 freedom, comfort, the life she had been 
 used to, which was not very elevated 
 indeed, but felt like high rank in com- 
 parison with this. And she knew her 
 parents would forgive her and defend her 
 if she went back to them unable to sup- 
 port the martyrdom which she had rashly 
 taken upon herself. But then how weak 
 that would be, Phoebe thought to herself, 
 vol. i. s
 
 258 PHOEBE, JUMOE. 
 
 drawing Mrs. Tozer's arm more tightly 
 within her own — how small ! how it would 
 hurt the feelings of the old people, how 
 it would vex and embarrass her father and 
 mother ! lastly, it might peril her brother's 
 interests and her own, which to do her 
 justice was the last thing she thought of, 
 and yet was not undeserving of notice in 
 its way. 
 
 '* Lean on me more heavily, grand- 
 mamma," she said at last finally con- 
 cluding and throwing off this self-discus- 
 sion. She could not prolong it further. 
 It was unworthy of her. Henceforward 
 she had made up her mind to set her face 
 like a flint, and no longer leave the ques- 
 tion of her persistence in her domestic 
 mission an open question. Whatever 
 she might have " to put up with," it was 
 now decided once for all. 
 
 " Bless us all, if this ain't grandmamma," 
 said Mrs. Tom. It was not often, as she 
 herself said with pride, that she required 
 to be in the shop, which was very much
 
 THE TOZEE FAMILY. 259 
 
 improved now from its old aspect. Ill 
 luck, however, brought her here to-day. 
 She stood at the door which led from the 
 shop to the house, dividing the counter, 
 talking to a lady who was making a com- 
 plaint upon the quality of cheese or butter. 
 Mrs. Tozer had led Phoebe that way in 
 order to point out to her the plate-glass 
 windows and marble slabs for the cheese, 
 of which, though they were one of her 
 grievances against Mrs. Tom, she was 
 secretly proud. 
 
 " I don't deny but what they've done 
 a deal," said the old woman, " show and 
 vanity as I call it. I wish they may do 
 as well for themselves with all their plate- 
 glass as me and Tozer did without it ; but 
 it ain't often as you'll see a handsomer 
 shop," she added contemplating fondly 
 the scene of her early labours. If a squire 
 looks fondly at his land, and a sailor at his 
 ship (when ships were worth looking at), 
 why should not a shopkeeper regard his 
 shop with the same affectionate feelings ? 
 
 s 2
 
 260 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 Mrs. Tom Tozer had just taken leave of 
 her remonstrant customer with a curtsey, 
 and an assurance that the faults com- 
 plained of should be remedied when she 
 caught sight of the infirm old woman 
 leaning on Phoebe's arm, and made the 
 exclamation already quoted. 
 
 " Lord bless us all ! if it ain't grand- 
 mamma, and Phoebe's daughter along o' 
 her, I'll lay you sixpence," said Mrs. Tom 
 in the extremity of her surprise, and at 
 the highest pitch of her voice. The lady 
 customer was still in the shop, and when 
 she heard this she turned round and gave 
 the newcomers a stare. (It was not very 
 wonderful, Phoebe allowed to herself with 
 secret anguish.) She gave old Mrs. Tozer a 
 familiar nod. " This is quite a long walk for 
 you nowadays," she said gazing at Phoebe 
 though she addressed the old woman. 
 
 " Thank ye, ma'am, I am a deal better," 
 said Mrs. Tozer, " especially as I've got 
 my grand-daughter to take care of me." 
 
 " Oh ! is this young — person your
 
 THE TOZER FAMILY. 261 
 
 grand-daughter," said the customer with 
 another stare, and then she nodded 
 again and went away wondering. 
 " Well," Phoebe said to herself, " one 
 little sting more or less what did it mat- 
 ter ?" and she went on through the shop 
 supporting her grandmother, keenly sen- 
 sible of the looks that encountered her on 
 every side. Mrs. Tom stood leaning 
 against the counter waiting for them 
 without making any advance. She was 
 smart and good-looking, with a malicious 
 gleam in a pair of bright black beady eyes. 
 " How are you, granny ?" she said, " I 
 declare you're looking quite young again, 
 and as spry as twenty. Come in and rest ; 
 and this young lady as is with you, I don't 
 think as I need ask her name, the likeness 
 speaks for itself. It's Phcebe Beecham, 
 ain't it ? Bless us all ! I'd have known her 
 anywhere, I would ; the very moral of her 
 mother, and of you too, granny. As you 
 stand there now, you're as like as two 
 peas."
 
 262 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 Unconsciously Phoebe cast a look upon 
 her grandmother. She did not think she 
 was vain. To be unconscious that she 
 had some personar'advantages would, of 
 course, be impossible; but a thrill crept 
 through her when she looked at the old 
 woman by her side, wrinkled and red, in 
 her copper-coloured gown. As like as two 
 peas ! was that possible ? Phoebe's heart 
 sank for the moment to her shoes, and a 
 pitiful look of restrained pain came to her 
 face, This was assailing her in her ten- 
 derest point. 
 
 " Am I so like you, grandmamma ?" 
 she said, faltering; but added quickly, 
 " then I cannot be like mamma. How 
 do you do ? My mother wished me to 
 come at once, to bring her kind regards. 
 Is my uncle at home ?" 
 
 " No, Miss, your uncle ain't at home," 
 said Mrs. Tom, " but you might be civil, 
 all the same, and put a name to me, 
 more nor if! was a dog. I'm your aunt,
 
 THE TOZER FAMILY. 263 
 
 I am — and I likes all my titles. I do — 
 and proper respect." 
 
 " Surely," said Phoebe, with a bow and 
 a gracious smile — but^he did not add that 
 name. She was pleased to think that 
 " Tom's wife," was her mother's favourite 
 aversion, and that a dignified resistance to 
 her claims was, so to speak, her duty. 
 It even amused her to think of the in- 
 genuity required throughout a long con- 
 versation for the clever and polite eluding 
 of this claim. 
 
 " I hope as you mean to let us in, 
 Amelia," said Mrs. Tozer, " for it ain't 
 often as I takes so long a walk. I would 
 never have thought of it but for Phoebe — 
 Phoebe junior, as Tozer calls her. She's 
 been used to things very different, but 
 I'm thankful to say, she ain't a bit proud. 
 She couldn't be more attentive to me if I 
 was the Queen, and talks of your children 
 as pretty as possible, without no nonsense. 
 It ain't often as you see that in a girl 
 brought up like she's been."
 
 264 THCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 " I don't pretend to know nothing of 
 how she's been brought up," said Mrs. 
 Tom, " and I don't think as there's no 
 occasion for pride here. We're all well-to- 
 do, and getting on in the world — thanks 
 to Him as gives the increase. I don't see 
 no opening for pride here. Me and your 
 mother were never very good friends, 
 Phoebe, since that's your name ; but if 
 there's anything I can do for you, or my 
 family, you won'task twice. Grandmother's 
 ain't a very lively house, not like mine, as is 
 full of children. Come in, Granny. I'm 
 always speaking of making the stairs 
 wider, and a big window on the landing ; 
 but folks can't do everything at once, 
 and we'll have to do with it a bit longer. 
 We've done a deal already to the old 
 place." 
 
 " More than was wanted, or was thought 
 upon in my time," said the old lady, to 
 whom this was as the. trumpet of battle. 
 " The stairs did well enough for me, and 
 I can't think what Tom can want chang-
 
 THE TOZER FAMILY. 265 
 
 ing things as he's been used to all his life." 
 " Oh, it ain't Tom," said his wife, her 
 face lighting up with satisfaction. " Tom 
 wouldn't mind if the place was to come to 
 bits about our ears. He's like you, granny, 
 he's one of the stand-still ones. It ain't 
 Tom, it's me." 
 
 This little passage of arms took place 
 as they were going upstairs, which cost 
 poor Mrs. Tozermany pantingsand groan- 
 ings, and placed Phoebe for once, on Mrs. 
 Tom's side, for a window on the landing 
 would have been a wonderful improve- 
 ment, there was no denying. "When, at 
 last, they had toiled to the top, fighting 
 their way, not only through the obscu- 
 rity, but through an atmosphere of ham 
 and cheese which almost choked Phoebe, 
 the old lady was speechless with the exer- 
 tion, though the air was to her as the air 
 of Paradise. Phoebe placed her on a chair 
 and undid her bonnet-strings, and for a 
 minute was really alarmed. Mrs. Tom, 
 however, took it with perfect equanimity.
 
 266 
 
 PHCECE, JUNIOR. 
 
 " She's blown a bit ; she ain't as young 
 as she was, nor even as she thinks for," 
 said that sympathetic person. " Come, 
 Granny, cheer up. Them stairs ain't 
 strange to you. What's the good of making 
 a fuss ? Sit down and get your breath," she 
 went on, pulling forward a chair; then turn- 
 ing to Phoebe, she shrugged her shoulders 
 and raised her eyebrows. u She's breaking 
 fast, that's what it is," said Mrs. Tom 
 under her breath with a nod of her head. 
 
 " This is the room as your mother spent 
 most of her life in, when she was like you," 
 said Mrs. Tozer, when she regained her 
 breath. " It was here as she met your 
 father first. The first time I set eyes on 
 him, f That's the man for my Phoebe,' I 
 said to myself; and sure enough, so it 
 turned out " 
 
 " You didn't miss no way of helping it 
 on, neither, granny, if folks do you jus- 
 tice," said Mrs. Tom. " Mothers can do 
 a deal when they exerts themselves ; and 
 now Phoebe has a daughter of her own,
 
 THE TOZER FAMILY. 267 
 
 I dare be sworn she's just as clever, 
 throwing the nice ones and the well-off ones 
 in her way. It's a wonder to me as she 
 hasn't gone off yet, with all her oppor- 
 tunities — two or three and twenty, ain't 
 you, Miss Phoebe ? I should have thought 
 you'd have married long afore now." 
 
 " I shall be twenty my next birth-day," 
 said Phoebe. " My cousins are a great 
 deal younger, I hear; are they at school? 
 I hope I shall see them before I go." 
 
 " Oh, you'll see 'em fast enough," said 
 their mother, " they're 'aving their music 
 lesson. I don't hold with sending girls to 
 school. I likes to keep them under my 
 own eye. I suppose I needn't ask you 
 now if you play ?" 
 
 " A very little," said Phoebe, who rather 
 piqued herself upon her music, and who 
 was learned in Bach and Beethoven, and 
 had an opinion of her own about Wagner. 
 Mrs. Tom brightened visibly, for her girls 
 played not a little, but a great deal. 
 
 " And draw ? — but I needn't ask, for
 
 268 PHOEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 living in London, you've got masters at 
 your very door." 
 
 " Not at all, I am sorry to say," said 
 Phoebe, with a pathethic tone of regret in 
 her voice. 
 
 " Lord bless us ! Now who'd have 
 thought it ? I think nothing a sacrifice to 
 give mine the best of education," said Mrs. 
 Tom.
 
 269 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 STRANGERS. 
 
 WELL, Ursula, how do you do?" 
 said Mrs. Sam Hurst, meeting 
 her young neighbour with outstretched 
 hands. She was a portly good-looking 
 woman with an active mind, and nothing, 
 or next to nothing to do, and instead of 
 being affronted as some persons might 
 have been, she was amused, and indeed 
 flattered by the suspicion and alarm with 
 which all the young Mays regarded her. 
 Whether she had the least intention of 
 ever giving any justification to their alarms 
 it would be impossible to say, for indeed 
 to a sensible woman of forty-five, well
 
 270 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 to do and comfortable, a husband with "a 
 temper of his own," and a large poor 
 unruly family was, perhaps, not so tempt- 
 ing as he appeared to be to his jealous 
 children. Anyhow she was not at all 
 angry with them for being jealous and 
 afraid of her. She was cordial in her 
 manner to the Mays as to everybody she 
 knew. She asked how Ursula had enjoyed 
 herself, where she had been, what she 
 had seen, and a hundred questions more. 
 
 " It is quite delightful to see somebody 
 who has something to tell," she said, 
 when the interrogation was over. " I 
 ask everybody what news, and no one has 
 any news, which is dreadful for me." 
 
 " How can you care for news ?" said 
 Ursula, " news ! what interest can there 
 be in mere news that doesn't concern 
 us?' 
 
 " You are very foolish, my dear," said 
 Mrs. Hurst, " what's to become of you 
 when you're old, if you don't like to hear 
 what's going on ? I'm thankful to say I
 
 STRANGERS. 271 
 
 take a great deal of interest in my fellow- 
 creatures for my part. Now listen, I'll 
 tell you a piece of news in return for all 
 your information about London. When 
 I was in Tozer's shop to-day — I always go 
 there, though they are Dissenters ; after 
 all, you know, most tradespeople are Dis- 
 senters ; some are sorry for it, some think 
 it quite natural that gentle-people and 
 tradespeople should think differently in 
 religious matters ; however, what I say 
 is, you can't tell the difference in butter 
 and bacon between church and dissent, 
 can you now ? and Tozer's is the best 
 shop in the town, certainly the best shop. 
 So as I was in Tozer's as I tell you, who 
 should come in but old Mrs. Tozer, who 
 once kept it herself — and by her side, 
 figure my astonishment, a young lady ! 
 yes, my dear, actually a young lady, in 
 appearance, of course — I mean in appear- 
 ance — for as you shall hear, it could be no 
 more than that. So nicely dressed, no- 
 thing vulgar or showy, a gown that Blise
 
 272 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 might have made, and everything to cor- 
 respond, in perfect taste. Fancy ! and you 
 may imagine how I stared. I could not 
 take my eyes off her. I was so astonished, 
 that I rubbed up my old acquaintance 
 with the old woman, and asked how her 
 rheumatism was. I hope it is rheumatism. 
 At all events I called it so, and then she 
 told me as proud as a peacock that it was 
 her granddaughter ; fancy, her grand- 
 daughter ! did you ever hear of such a 
 thing? The other woman in the shop, 
 the present Tozer, called out to her by 
 name. Phoebe they called her. Poor 
 girl 1* .,as so sorry for her. A lady in 
 appearance, and to have to submit to 
 that !" 
 
 "Oughtn't ladies to be called Phoebe?" 
 asked Janey, " Why not ? It's rather a 
 pretty name." 
 
 "That is so like Janey," said Mrs. 
 Hurst, " I know she is the clever one ; 
 but she never can see what one means. 
 It is not being called Phoebe, it is because
 
 STRANGERS. 273 
 
 of her relations that I am sorry for her. 
 Poor girl ! educating people out of their 
 sphere does far more harm than good, I 
 always maintain. To see that nice-look- 
 ing-well-dressed girl in Tozer's shop, with 
 all the butter boys calling her Phoebe — " 
 
 " The butter boys are as good as any 
 one else," cried Janey, whose tendencies 
 were democratic, (i I daresay she likes her 
 relations as well as we like ours^ and bet- 
 ter, though they do keep a shop." 
 
 " Oh, Janey !" cried Ursula, whose feel- 
 ings were touched ; then she remembered 
 that her sympathies ought not to fi\>. . in 
 the same channel with those of Mrs. Sam 
 Hurst, and continued coldly, " If she had 
 not liked them she need not have come 
 to see them." 
 
 " That is all you know, you girls. You 
 don't know the plague of relations, and 
 how people have got to humble themselves 
 to keep money in the family, or keep up 
 appearances, especially people that have 
 risen in the world. I declare I think 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 
 
 they pay dear for rising in the world, or 
 their poor children pay dear — " 
 
 " You seem to take a great deal of 
 interest in the Tozers," said Ursula, glad 
 to administer a little correction, " even if 
 they came to St. Roque's I could under- 
 stand it — but Dissenters !" This arrow 
 struck home. 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Hurst, colouring, " of 
 all people to take an interest in Dissenters 
 I am the last; but I was struck, I must 
 admit, to see that old Mrs. Tozer, looking 
 like an old washerwoman, with a girl in a 
 twenty-guiuea dress, you may take my 
 word for it, though as plain as that little 
 brown frock of yours, Ursula. That was 
 a sight to wake anyone up." 
 
 Ursula looked down at the little brown 
 frock thus contemptuously referred to, 
 with mingled offence and consciousness of 
 inferiority. It had not cost as many 
 shillings, and had been made up at home, 
 and was not a shining example of the dress-
 
 STRANGERS. 275 
 
 maker's art. " If you value people ac- 
 cording to what their dress costs — " 
 
 " I can't know much about her moral 
 qualities, can I?" said Mrs. Hurst, "and 
 I don't suppose she has any position, being 
 old Tozer's grandchild. But she wasn't 
 amiss in her looks, and I declare I should 
 have taken her for a lady if I had met her 
 in the street. It shows how one may be 
 taken in. And this is a lesson for you, 
 young girls ; you should never trust to ap- 
 pearances. I confess I'd like to find out 
 some more about her. Going in, Ursula ? 
 Well, my dear, perhaps I'll step in for a 
 talk in the evening. You must be dull 
 after your gaiety. Tell your dear papa," 
 said Mrs. Hurst with a laugh, " that I 
 am coming to sit with you after tea. Now 
 mind you give him my message. He does 
 not like to miss me when I come to the 
 Parsonage, does he now ? Good-bye for 
 the present. Till eight o'clock." 
 
 " Oh, how I hate her," cried Janey, 
 " except sometimes when she makes me 
 
 t 2
 
 276 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 laugh and I feel tempted to like her ; but 
 I always resist it. Do you think really, 
 Ursula, that papa could be — such a — 
 stupid — " 
 
 " Oh, please don't ask me," cried Ur- 
 sula. " How can I tell ? I don't know 
 what he may do ; but if he does — and if she 
 does — oh, then, Janey — " 
 
 " Yes, indeed, then !" said Janey, breath- 
 ing hard. This mysterious threat seemed 
 very horrible to both of them, though what 
 they meant by it, it would have been very 
 hard for either of them to tell. They 
 waited within the little shrubbery, whis- 
 pering to each other till they heard Mrs. 
 Hurst close her own door, for they did 
 not want any more of her society, though 
 they had no intention of going in. When 
 she was safe out of the way, they stole out 
 and continued their walk in the opposite 
 direction. 
 
 " I wanted to have gone into the town," 
 said Ursula. " It is hard to have that 
 woman next door ; one can't go anywhere
 
 STRANGERS. ' 277 
 
 or do anything ! I wanted some braid for 
 your new frock, Janey, and twist to make 
 the button-holes ; but if we had said we 
 were going up into Carlingford, she would 
 have come too. Never mind; a walk is 
 better than nothing. Walk fast, and let 
 us try how far we can go before tea." 
 
 Upon this idea, the two girls set out 
 walking as if for a race, which did them 
 all the good in the world, quickening the 
 blood in their veins, sending the colour to 
 their cheeks, and dispersing all the cob- 
 webs from their minds, since they soon 
 got into the spirit of the race, and pursued 
 it with eagerness, with little outbursts of 
 laughter, and breathless adjurations to 
 each other to keep within the proper pace, 
 and not to run. It was not a very inviting 
 road along which they took their walk. 
 Beyond St. Roque the land was divided into 
 allotments for the working people, not 
 very tidily kept, and rough with cut cab- 
 bages, plants, and dug up potatoas. Beyond 
 this lay a great turnip-field, somewhat rank
 
 278 PHOEBE, JUNIOR.. 
 
 in smell, and the east wind swept chill 
 along the open road, which was not shel- 
 tered by a single tree, so that the attrac- 
 tions of the way soon palled upon pedes- 
 trians. Looking back to Grange Lane, 
 the snug and sheltered look of that genteel 
 adjunct to the town was comforting to 
 behold. Even Grange Lane was not gay ; 
 a line of garden walls however they may 
 shelter and comfort the gardens within 
 are not lovely without ; but yet the trees, 
 though leafless, waved over the red lines 
 of brick, and the big laurels hung out 
 bushes of dark verdure and long floating 
 sprays of ivy. 
 
 " Let's turn back ; perhaps she may not 
 be at the window/' cried Ursula. " It is 
 so dull here." 
 
 Janey stopped short in the heat of the 
 walk, objecting for the moment. 
 
 " I wish you had not gone to London. 
 You never used to care for the streets and 
 the shops ; now a regular good walk is 
 too much for you," cried Janey.
 
 STRANGERS. 279 
 
 " With a turnip-field on one side and a 
 potatoe-field on the other !" said Ursula, 
 in high disdain. 
 
 "I'll tell you what !" cried Janey. " I 
 don't think I like you since you came back. 
 The Dorsets are fine people, and we are 
 not fine. There are no grand parties, nor 
 theatres, nor balls at Carlingford. When 
 we go out here, we go to walk, not to see 
 things, as you have been used to doing. 
 I don't know what you mean by it ; nine- 
 teen years with us, and one fortnight with 
 them ! and the fortnight counts for more 
 than all the years !" 
 
 Janey was not in the habit of restraining 
 her voice any more than anything else 
 about her, and she spoke this out with 
 loud school-girl tones, reckless who might 
 hear her. In most cases she might have 
 done this with the utmost impunity, and 
 how was she to know, as she said to her 
 sister afterwards, in self-defence, that any- 
 one, especially any gentleman, could be 
 lurking about, spying upon people, among
 
 280 PHCEBE, JUNIOE. 
 
 those nasty allotments ? There was some 
 one there, however, who came down the 
 muddy path, all cut up by the wheel- 
 barrows, with a smile upon his face. A 
 gentleman ? Janey called him so without 
 a doubt on the subject ; but Ursula, more 
 enlightened and slightly irritated, had her 
 doubts. He was dressed, not with any 
 care of morning costume, but wore a black 
 frock-coat of the most formal description, 
 with a white cravat carelessly tied, semi- 
 clerical, and yet not clerical. He had a 
 smile on his face, which, on the whole, was 
 rather a handsome face, and looked at 
 them, showing evident signs of having 
 heard what Janey said. To be sure, he 
 did not say anything, but Ursula felt that 
 his look was just the same as if he had 
 spoken, and coloured high, resenting the 
 intrusion. By this stranger's side was 
 one of the men who had been working at 
 the allotments, whose hands were not 
 clean, and whose boots were heavy with 
 the clinging, clayey soil. When they had
 
 STRANGERS. 281 
 
 nearly reached the road, the gentleman 
 turned round and shook hands with his 
 companion, and then walked on towards 
 Carlingford, throwing another look towards 
 the girls as he passed. It would be hard 
 to say whether curiosity or anger was 
 strongest in Ursula. In Janey, the former 
 sentiment carried everything before it. 
 
 " Oh, I wonder who he is P" she cried, 
 low, but eager, in her sister's ear. " Who 
 can he be, Ursula, who can he be ? We 
 know all the men about here, everyone, 
 as well as we know Reginald. Oh, Ursula, 
 who do you think he can be P" 
 
 " He is very impertinent," cried Ursula, 
 with an angry blush. " How should I 
 know ? And oh ! how very very silly of 
 you, Janey, to talk so loud, and make 
 impudent men stare at us so." 
 
 " Impudent !" cried Janey. " I didn't 
 talk loud. He looked rather nice, on the 
 contrary. Why, he laughed ! Do you 
 call that impudent ? It can't be anybody 
 from the town, because we know every-
 
 282 PH(EBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 body ; and did you see him shaking hands 
 with that man ? How very funny ? Let 
 us run in and tell Mrs. Sam Hurst, and 
 ask her who she thinks he is. She is sure 
 to know." 
 
 "Janey," said Ursula, severely, "if you 
 live very long, you will be as great a 
 gossip and as fond of news as Mrs. Sam 
 Hurst herself." 
 
 " I don't care," cried Janey ; " you're 
 just as fond of news as I am, only you 
 won't confess it. I am dying to know 
 who he is. He is quite nice-looking, and 
 tall and grand. A new gentleman ! Come, 
 quick, Ursula ; let us get back and see 
 where he goes." 
 
 " Janey !" cried the elder sister. She 
 was half curious herself, but Ursula was 
 old enough to know better, and to be 
 ashamed of the other's naive and undis- 
 guised curiosity. "Oh, what would Cousin 
 Anne say ! A girl running after a gentle- 
 man (even if he is a gentleman), to see 
 where he goes !"
 
 STRANGERS. 283 
 
 " Well I" cried Janey, "if she wants to 
 know, what else is she to do ? Who cares 
 for Cousin Anne ? She is an old maid. 
 Why, if it had been a lady, I shouldn't 
 have minded. There are so many ladies ; 
 but a new gentleman ! If you won't come 
 on, I will run by myself. How pleased 
 Mrs. Sam Hurst will be !" 
 
 " I thought you hated Mrs. Sam Hurst ?" 
 
 " So I do when I think of papa ; but 
 when there's anything going on, or any- 
 thing to find out, I like her dearly. She's 
 such fun ! She never shilly-shallies, 
 like you. She's not an old maid like 
 your Cousin Anne that you are always 
 talking of. Come along ! if anybody else 
 finds out who he is before we do," cried 
 Jenny, with almost despairing energy, 
 " I shall break my heart !" 
 
 Ursula stoically resisted the tug upon 
 her, but she went back to Grange Lane, 
 to which, indeed, she had turned her face 
 before they met the stranger, and she 
 could not help seeing the tall black figure 

 
 284 PHCEBE, JUNJOK. 
 
 in front of her which Janey watched so 
 eagerly. Ursula was not eager, but she 
 could not help seeing him. He walked up 
 the street quickly, not as if he thought 
 himself of interest to anyone, but when 
 he had got half way up Grange Lane, 
 crossed to speak to somebody. This filled 
 Janey with consternation. 
 
 " He is not such a stranger after all," 
 she cried. " He knows some one. He 
 will not be quite a discovery. Who is it 
 he is talking to, I wonder ? He is stand- 
 ing at one of the doors, but it is not Miss 
 Humphrey, nor Miss Griffiths, nor any 
 of the Charters. Perhaps she is a stranger 
 too. If he is married he won't be half 
 so interesting, for there are always plenty 
 of ladies. Perhaps he has just come by 
 the railway to spend the day — but then, 
 there is nothing to see in Carlingford, and 
 how did he know that man at the lots ? 
 Oh, Ursula, why don't you answer me, 
 why don't you say something ? have you 
 no feeling ? I am sure it don't matter a
 
 STRANGERS. 235 
 
 bit to me, for I am not out, I am never 
 asked to parties — but I take an interest 
 for you other girls' sake." 
 
 Before this time, however, Ursula had 
 found a new object of interest. She had 
 not been quite so unmoved as Janey sup- 
 posed. A new gentleman was a thing to 
 awaken anybody who knew Carlingford, 
 for, indeed, gentlemen were scarce in the 
 society of the little town, and even at 
 the most mild of tea-parties it is ludicrous 
 to see one man (and that most likely a 
 curate) among a dozen ladies — so that 
 even when she appeared to Janey to 
 wonder, she felt that her sister's curiosity 
 was not unjustifiable. But while thus 
 engaged in the enterprise of discover- 
 ing " a new gentleman " for the good of 
 society, Ursula's eyes and her attention 
 were caught by another interest. The 
 stranger had crossed the street to talk to 
 a lady, who had been walking down the 
 Lane, and whom Ursula felt she had seen 
 somewhere. Who was it ? Certainly not
 
 286 PHGEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 Miss Humphreys nor Miss Griffiths, nor 
 any other of the well-known young ladies 
 of Grange Lane. The setting sun, which 
 had come out suddenly after a dull day, 
 threw a slanting, long-drawn ray up the 
 street, which fell upon the strangers, as 
 they stood talking. This ray caught the 
 young lady's hair, and flashed back a 
 reflection out of the shining coils which 
 looked to Ursula (being dark herself, she 
 admired golden hair more than anything) 
 as bright as the sunshine And in 
 the light she caught the outline of a 
 pretty head, and of a nose slightly " tip- 
 tilted/' according to the model which the 
 Laureate has brought into fashion. Where 
 had she seen her before ? She remem- 
 bered all at once with a rush of bewildered 
 pleasure 
 
 " Janey ! Oh, Janey !" she cried, 
 " Listen ! This is too extraordinary. 
 There is the young lady in black !" 
 
 Janey, as may be supposed, had 
 heard every detail of Mrs. Copperhead's
 
 STRANGERS. 287 
 
 ball, and knew what Ursula meant as well 
 as Ursula herself did. She grew pale 
 with excitement and curiosity. " No !" 
 she said, " you can't mean it. Are you 
 sure, are you quite sure ? Two new people 
 in one day ! Why, everybody must be 
 coming to Carlingford. It makes me feel 
 quite strange I" said this susceptible young 
 woman ; " the young lady in black I" 
 
 " Oh, yes, there can't be any mistake," 
 said Ursula, hurrying on in her excite- 
 ment, " I looked at her so much. I 
 couldn't mistake her. Oh, I wonder if 
 she will know me, I wonder if she will 
 speak to me ! or if she is going to see the 
 Dorsets, or what has brought her to Car- 
 lingford. Only fancy, Janey, the young 
 lady in black whom I have talked so much 
 of; oh, I wonder, I do wonder what has 
 brought her here." 
 
 They were on the opposite side of the 
 lane, so that their hurried approach did 
 not startle the strangers ; but Phoebe, 
 looking up at the sound of the footsteps,
 
 288 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 saw a face she knew looking wist- 
 fully, eagerly at her, with evident re- 
 cognition. Phoebe had a faculty quite 
 royal of remembering faces, and it took 
 but a moment to recall Ursula's to her. 
 Another moment was spent in a rapid dis- 
 cussion with herself, as to whether she 
 should give or withhold the salutation 
 which the girl evidently sought. But 
 what harm could it do ? and it would be 
 pleasant to know some one; and if on 
 finding out who she was, Miss Dorset's 
 little relation shrank from her acquain- 
 tance, why then Phoebe said to herself " I 
 shall be no worse than before." So she sent 
 a smile and a bow across the road and 
 said " How do you do ?" in a pause of her 
 conversation. Ursula was too shy to feel 
 on equal terms with the young lady in 
 black who was so much more self-pos- 
 sessed than she was. She blushed and 
 smiled, answered " Quite well, thank 
 you," across the lane like a child, and 
 notwithstanding a great many pokes from
 
 STRANGERS. 289 
 
 Janey's energetic elbow, went on without 
 further response. 
 
 " Oh, why can't you run across and 
 speak to her ?" cried Janey, " oh, how 
 funny you are and how disagreeable ! 
 would I pass anyone I knew, like that !" 
 
 "You don't understand, you are only 
 a child," said Ursula, frightened and 
 agitated, yet full of dignity, i( we have 
 only met — in society. When you are 
 introduced to anyone in society it does 
 not count. Perhaps they might not want 
 to know you ; perhaps — but anyhow you 
 can't rush up to them like two girls at 
 school. You have to wait and see what 
 they will do." 
 
 "Well, I declare !" cried Janey, "then 
 what is the good of society? You know 
 them, and yet you mustn't know them. I 
 would never be such a fool as that. Fancy 
 looking at her across the lane and saying 
 8 quite well, thank you,' after she had 
 begun to speak. I suppose that's Cousin 
 Anne's way ? I should have rushed across 
 
 vol. I. u
 
 290 PHOSBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 and asked where she was staying, and 
 when she would come to see us. Ursula, 
 oh I" cried Janey, suddenly changing her 
 tone, and looking at her sister with eyes 
 which had widened to twice their natural 
 size with the grandeur of the idea, " you 
 will have to ask her to tea !" 
 
 " Oh, you silly girl, do you think she 
 wonld come ? you should have seen her 
 at the ball. She knew everybody, and had 
 such quantities of partners. Mr. Clarence 
 Copperhead was always dancing with her. 
 Fancy her coming to tea with us." But 
 Ursula herself was somewhat breathless 
 with the suggestion. When a thing has 
 been once said, there is always a chance 
 that it may be done, and the two girls 
 walked up very quickly into the High 
 Street after this, silent, with a certain 
 av/e of themselves and their possibilities. 
 It might be done, now that it had been 
 said.
 
 291 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A DOMESTIC CRISIS. 
 
 THE interest shown by the two girls in 
 the straoger whom they had noted 
 with so much attention was not destined to 
 meet with any immediate reward. Neither 
 he, nor " the young lady in black," whom he 
 hurried across the street to meet, could be 
 heard of, or was seen iior full two days 
 afterwards, to the great disappointment 
 of the youog Mays. Ursula, especially, 
 who had been entertaining vague but 
 dazzling thoughts of a companionship more 
 interesting than Janey's, more novel and at 
 the same time more equal than that which 
 was extended to her by the Miss Griffiths 
 
 u 2
 
 292 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 in Grange Lane, who were so much bet- 
 ter off and had so much less to do than' 
 she. Ursula did not recollect the name 
 of the fortunate girl who was so much in 
 the ascendant at Mr. Copperhead's ball, 
 though Phcebe had been introduced to 
 her ; but she did recollect her popularity 
 and general friendliness, and the number 
 of partners she had, and all those delight- 
 ful signs of greatness which impress a poor 
 little stranger to whom her first dance is 
 not unmiugled pleasure. She whispered 
 to Janey about her even in the drawing- 
 room when all the family were assembled. 
 " Do you think she will call ?" said 
 Ursula, asking counsel even of Janey's 
 inexperience, of which she was so con- 
 temptuous on other occasions. 
 
 " Call ! how can she, if she is a stran- 
 ger ?" said Janey. 
 
 " As if you knew anything about it !" 
 Ursula retorted with great injustice. 
 
 " If I don't know then why do you ask 
 me ?" complained Janey with reason.
 
 A DOMESTIC CRISIS. 293 
 
 The room looked more cheerful since 
 Ursula had come home. The fire, no 
 longer choked with cinders, burned clear 
 and red. The lamp, though it was a 
 cheap one, and burned paraffin oil, did 
 not smell. The old curtains were nicely 
 drawn, and the old covers smoothed over 
 the chairs. All this did not make them 
 look less old ; but it made their antiquity 
 natural and becoming. Johnny, the 
 schoolboy, was learning his lessons on the 
 rug before the fire. Reginald sat writing, 
 with a candle all to himself, at a writing 
 table in a corner. Ursula and Janey were 
 working at the centre table by the light 
 of the lamp. They had no time, you may 
 imagine, for fancy work. Janey with 
 many contortions of her person, especially 
 of her mouth, with which she seemed to 
 follow the movements of her needle, was 
 stitching up a sleeve of her new frock 
 which Miss Dorset had sent her, and 
 which a poor dressmaker, who " went out," 
 was at this moment making up in the
 
 294 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 schoolroom ; while Ursula was still busy 
 with the basket of stockings which she 
 had found awaiting her on their return. 
 What Reginald was doing at the writing 
 table was probably a great deal less useful, 
 but the girls respected his occupation as no 
 one ever thought of respecting theirs, and 
 carried on their conversation under their 
 breath, not to interrupt him. The little 
 children had gone to bed, tea was over, and 
 several hours of the long winter evening 
 still before them. Janey had given over les- 
 sons, partly because there was no one to 
 insist upon her doing them. Once in a week 
 or so her father gave her a lecture for 
 her ignorance, and ordered her into his 
 study to do a long sum in arithmetic out 
 of the first old " Colenso " that could be 
 picked up ; and about once a week too, 
 awakening suddenly to a sense of her own 
 deficiencies, she would " practise" ener- 
 getically on the old piano. This was all 
 that was being done for Janey in the way 
 of education. She was fifteen, and as
 
 A DOMESTIC CRISIS. Z)0 
 
 Johnny, and Amy, and Robin were at an 
 age when school is a necessity, the only 
 retrenchment possible was to keep Janey 
 at home. Ursula had got what education 
 she possessed in the same irregular way. 
 It was not much. Besides reading and 
 writing she had pretty manners, which 
 came by nature like those other gifts. A 
 girl is not so badly off who can read and 
 write and has pretty manners. Janey 
 possessed the two first faculties, but 
 neither had nor apparently could acquire 
 the third. The two dark brown heads 
 were close together as they worked. 
 Ursula's shining and neat, and carefully 
 arranged, Janey' s rough with elf-locks ; but 
 they were more interesting than Reginald, 
 though he was so much better informed. 
 As for Johnny he lay extended on the 
 rug, his head slightly raised on his two 
 hands, his book on a level with the rest 
 of his person, saying over his lesson to 
 himself with moving lips. And now and 
 then when the girls' whispered chatter
 
 296 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 was silent, the sound of Reginald's pen 
 scratching across the paper would fill up 
 the interval ; it was a sound which filled 
 them all with respect. 
 
 This peaceful domestic scene was broken 
 in upon by the entry of Mr. May. From 
 the moment that he closed the hall-door 
 behind him, coming in, a little thrill ran 
 through the family party. The girls 
 looked at each other when they heard that 
 sound, and Johnny, without stopping his 
 inward repetition, shifted himself and his 
 book adroitly with* the cleverness of prac- 
 tice, to the side instead of the front of the 
 fire. Reginald's pen stopped its scratch- 
 ing, and he wheeled round on his chair 
 to give an appealing glance at his sisters. 
 
 " What is it now ?" he said hurriedly. 
 Everyone knew that when the door was 
 closed like that it meant something like 
 a declaration of war. But they had not 
 much time to wait and wonder. Mr. May 
 came in pushing the door wide open be- 
 fore him, and admitting in a gust the chill
 
 A DOMESTIC CRISIS. 29? 
 
 air of the January night. He looked at 
 the peaceable domestic scene with a 
 " humph" of dissatisfaction because there 
 was nothing to find fault with, which is 
 as great a grievance as another when one 
 is in the mood for grievances. He had 
 come in cross and out of sorts with a 
 private cause for his ill-temper, which he 
 did not choose to reveal, and it would 
 have been a relief to him had he found 
 them all chattering or wasting their time, 
 instead of being occupied in this perfectly 
 dutiful way — even Johnny at his lessons 
 repeating them over under his breath. 
 What was the world coming to ? Mr. 
 May was disappointed. Instead of leading 
 up to it gradually by a general battue of 
 his children all round, he had to open 
 upon his chief subject at once which was 
 not nearly so agreeable a way. 
 
 " What are you doing, Reginald ?" he 
 asked, roughly, pulling his chair to the 
 other side of the fire, opposite the 
 corner to which Johnny had scuffled out
 
 298 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 of the way. " I have come in especially 
 to speak to you. It is time this shilly- 
 shallying was done with. Do you mean 
 to accept the College chaplaincy or not ? 
 an answer must be given, and that at 
 once. Are you so busy that you can't 
 attend to what I say ?" 
 
 " I am not busy at all, sir," said Regi- 
 nald, in a subdued voice, while his sisters 
 cast sympathetic looks at him. Both the 
 girls, it is true, thought him extremely 
 foolish, but what of that? necessarily 
 they were on his side against papa. 
 
 " I thought as much; indeed it would 
 be hard to say what you could find to be 
 busy at. But look here, this must come 
 to an end one way or another. You know 
 my opinion on the subject." 
 
 " And you know mine, sir," said Regi- 
 nald, rising and coming forward to the 
 fire. " I don't say anything against the 
 old College. For an old man it might be 
 quite a justifiable arrangement — one who 
 had already spent his strength in work —
 
 A DOMESTIC CRISIS. 299 
 
 but for me — of course there is nothing in 
 the world to do." 
 
 " And two hundred and fifty a year for 
 the doing of it — not to speak of the house 
 which you could let for fifty more." 
 
 " Father ! don't you see that is just the 
 very thing that I object to, so much for 
 nothing." 
 
 " You prefer nothing for nothing," said 
 Mr. May, with a smile, " well, I suppose 
 that is more fair, perhaps — to the public ; 
 — but how about me ? A son of three-and- 
 twenty depending upon me for everything, 
 useless, and bringing in nothing, does not 
 suit me. You are all the same," he said, 
 " all taking from me, with a thousand 
 wants, education, clothes, amusements — " 
 
 "I am sure," said the irrepressible 
 Janey, " it is not much clothes we get, 
 and as for amusements — and education !" 
 
 " Hold your tongue," cried her father. 
 " Here are six of you, one more helpless 
 than another, and the eldest the most 
 helpless of all. T did not force you into
 
 300 PH(EBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 the Church. You might have gone out to 
 James if you had liked — but you ohose 
 an academical career, and then there was 
 nothing else for it. I gave you a title to 
 orders. You are my curate just now — so 
 called ; but you know I can't pay a curate, 
 and you know I can't afford to keep you. 
 Providence — " said Mr. May, sitting up 
 in his chair, with a certain solemnity, 
 " Providence itself has stepped in to make 
 your path clear. Here is better than a 
 living, a provision, for you. I don't bid 
 you take it for life, take it for a year or 
 two till you can hear of something better. 
 Now what on earth is your objection to 
 this ?" 
 
 The girls had both turned their faces to- 
 wards their brother. Janey, always the first 
 in action, repeated almost unconsciously, 
 
 " Yes, what on earth, Reginald, can be 
 your objection to this ?" 
 
 Reginald stood in the middle of the 
 room and looked helplessly at them. 
 Against his father alone he might have
 
 A DOMESTIC CRISIS. 301 
 
 made a stand — but when the united family 
 thus .gazed at him with inquiring and re- 
 proachful looks, what was he to say ? 
 
 "Objection!" he faltered, "you know 
 very well what my objection is. It is not 
 honest work — it is no work. It is a waste 
 of money that might be better employed ; 
 it is a sinecure." 
 
 " And what do you call your nominal 
 curateship," said his father, " is not that 
 a sinecure, too ?" 
 
 " If it is," said Reginald, growing red, 
 but feeling bolder, for here the family 
 veered round, and placed itself on his 
 side, " it is of a contrary kind. It is sine 
 pay. My work may be bad, though I hope 
 not, but my pay is nothing. I don't see 
 any resemblance between the two." 
 
 "Your pay nothing!" cried the father, 
 enraged, " what do you call your living, 
 your food that you are so fastidious about, 
 your floods of beer and all the rest of it — 
 not to speak of tailors' bills much heavier 
 than mine ?"
 
 302 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 66 Which are never paid." 
 
 61 Whose fault is it that they are never 
 paid ? yours and the others who weigh me 
 down to the ground, and never try to help 
 or do anything for themselves. Never 
 paid ! how should I have gone on to this 
 period and secured universal respect if they 
 had never been paid. I have had to pay 
 for all of you," said Mr. May, bitterly, 
 " and all your vagaries ; education, till I 
 have been nearly ruined, dresses and rib- 
 bons, and a hundred fooleries for these 
 girls, who are of no use, who will never 
 give me back a farthing." 
 
 M Papa I" cried Ursula and Janey in one 
 breath. 
 
 " Hold your tongues ! useless impedi- 
 menta, not able even to scrub the floors, 
 and make the beds, which is all you could 
 ever be good for — and you must have a 
 servant forsooth to do even that. But 
 why should I speak of the girls ?" he 
 added, with a sarcastic smile, " they can 
 do nothing better, poor creatures ; but
 
 A DOMESTIC CRISIS. 303 
 
 you ! who call yonrself a man — a Univer- 
 sity man, save the mark — a fine fellow with 
 the Oxford stamp upon you, twenty-three 
 your next birthday. It is a fine thing 
 that I should still have to support you." 
 
 Reginald began to walk up and down 
 the room, stung beyond bearing — not that 
 he had not heard it all before, but to get 
 accustomed to such taunts is difficult, and 
 it is still more difficult for a young and 
 susceptible mind to contradict all that is 
 seemly and becoming in nature, and to 
 put forth its own statement in return. 
 Reginald knew that his education had in 
 reality cost his father very little, and that 
 his father knew this. He was aware too, 
 much more distinctly than Mr. May knew, 
 of James' remittances on his account ; but 
 what could he say ? It was his father who 
 insulted him, and the young man's lips 
 were closed ; but the effort was a hard one. 
 He could not stand still there and face the 
 man who had so little consideration for his 
 feelings. All he could do was to keep his
 
 304 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 agitation and irritation down by that hur- 
 ried promenade about the room, listening 
 as little as he could, and answering not at 
 all. 
 
 " Oh, papa ! how can you ?" cried Janey, 
 seizing the first pause. Janey was not old 
 enough to understand the delicacy that 
 closed Reginald's lips, and the impulse of 
 self-defence was stirring in her; " how 
 dare you talk to Ursula so ? I mayn't be 
 much use, but Ursula ! nice and comfort- 
 able you were when she was away ! as if 
 you didn't say so ten times in a morning; to 
 be sure that was to make me feel uncom- 
 fortable. Scrub floors !" cried Janey, in 
 the violence of her resentment. " I'll go 
 out and be a maid-of-all-work whenever 
 you please. I am sure it would be much 
 happier than here." 
 
 "Hold your tongue," said Mr. May, 
 " you scolding and Ursula crying ; that's 
 the beauty of the feminine element in a 
 house. I ought to be very thankful, 
 oughtn't I, that I have girls to furnish this
 
 A DOMESTIC CRISIS. 305 
 
 agreeable variety ? But as for you, Regi- 
 nald," his father added, " mark my words, 
 if you determine to reject this windfall 
 that Providence has blown into your hands, 
 it must be done at once. No further 
 play of I would and I would not, if you 
 please, here ; and if it does not suit you, 
 you will please to understand that I have 
 no further need for a curate that suits 
 me still less. I want your room. If 
 nothing else can be done, I must try to 
 take a pupil to add a little to the income 
 which has so many claims upon it ; and I 
 don't mean to go on keeping you — this is 
 plain enough, I hope." 
 
 " Very plain, Sir," said Reginald, who 
 had grown as pale as he was red before. 
 
 " I am glad to hear it ; you will write to 
 the Corporation at once, accepting or re- 
 jecting at your pleasure ; but this must be 
 done to-night. I insist on its being done 
 to-night; and if you find yourself suffi- 
 ciently bold to reject an income," said 
 Mr. May with emphasis, " and go off into 
 
 vol. I. x
 
 306 PHOEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 the world without a penny in your pocket, 
 I wash my hands of it ; it is nothing to 
 me." 
 
 Then there was a pause. The father of 
 the family sat down in his chair, and looked 
 round him with the happy consciousness 
 that he had made everybody miserable. 
 The girls were both crying, Reginald 
 pale and desperate, coming and going 
 through the room. No one had escaped 
 but Johnny, who, happy in insignificance, 
 lay all his length on the other side of the 
 fire, and lifted his face from his book to 
 watch the discomfiture of the others. 
 Johnny had no terrors on his own ac- 
 count. He had done nothing to call forth 
 the paternal wrath. Mr. May could not 
 resist this temptation. 
 
 " Is that a way to learn lessons as they 
 ought to be learnt ?" he cried suddenly, 
 throwing one of his darts at the unthink- 
 ing boy. " Get up this moment, and sit 
 down to a table somewhere. Your own 
 room, where there is nobody to disturb
 
 A DOMESTIC CRISIS. 307 
 
 you, is better than amid the chit-chat 
 here ; do you hear me ? get up, Sir, and 
 
 go." 
 
 Johnny stumbled to his feet appalled ; 
 
 he was too much startled to say anything. 
 He took his books across the room to the 
 writing table which Reginald had aban- 
 doned in a similar way. But by the time 
 he reached that haven, he came to him- 
 self, and recovering his courage muttered 
 something about the hardship to which 
 he was thus exposed, as boys have 
 a way of doing ; upon which Mr. May got 
 suddenly up, seized him by the shoulders 
 and turned him out of the drawing-room. 
 " I said your own room, Sir," cried this 
 impartial father, distributing to all alike 
 an equal share of his urbanities. When 
 he had accomplished this, he stood for a 
 moment and looked at the rest of his con- 
 fused and uncomfortable family. " There 
 is not much cheerful society to be had 
 here this evening, I perceive," he said. 
 " It is pleasant to come in from one's 
 
 x 2
 
 308 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 cares and find a reception like this, don't 
 you think ? Let some one bring me some 
 coffee to my study. I am going to 
 write." 
 
 " Whose fault is it that he gets such a 
 reception ?" burst forth Janey, the mo- 
 ment her father had closed the door. 
 " Who does it all, I wonder ? Who treats 
 us like a set of wretches without any feel- 
 ing ? I can't hush, I won't hush ! Oh, 
 shouldn't I be glad to go out for a house- 
 maid, to do anything !" 
 
 " Oh, Janey, hush ! we can't help our- 
 selves, we are obliged to put up with it," 
 said Ursula, " but Reginald, he is not 
 obliged, he can save himself when he likes. 
 Oh, I know, I know papa is unreasonable ; 
 but, Reginald, aren't you a little bit un- 
 reasonable too ?" 
 
 " Don't you begin to reproach me," 
 cried the young man, " I have had enough 
 for one day. Have I been such a charge 
 upon him, Ursula? What has he spent 
 upon me ? Next to nothing. That tailor's
 
 A DOMESTIC CRISIS. 309 
 
 bill he spoke of, he knew as well as I do 
 that I paid it by the tutorship I had in 
 the vacation. It is his bill that is not 
 paid, not mine. And then James's 
 money — " 
 
 " Oh, never mind that, never mind the 
 past," cried Ursula, " think of the pre- 
 sent, that's what you ought to do. Oh, 
 Reginald think ; if I had the chance of 
 two hundred and fifty pounds a year ! there 
 is nothing I would not do for it. I would 
 scrub floors as he said, I would do any- 
 thing, the dirtiest work. You will be 
 independent, able to do what you please, 
 and never to ask papa for anything. 
 Reginald, think ! Oh, dear, dear, I wish 
 I knew how to talk to you. To be in- 
 dependent, able to please yourself I" 
 
 " I shall be independent anyhow after 
 to-night," he said. " Ursula, you will help 
 me to pack my things, won't you ? It is 
 leaving you here, you girls, with nobody 
 to stand up for you ; it is that I feel 
 most."
 
 310 PHCEBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 " Oh, Reginald, don't go and leave us," 
 cried Janey, leaning on the back of his 
 chair, " what can we do without you ? 
 When he comes in in a rage like to-night, as 
 long as you are here one can bear it. 
 Oh, Reginald, can't you, can't you take 
 the chaplaincy? Think what it would be 
 for us." 
 
 "Yes, I will pack your things," said 
 Ursula, " I will help you to get out of it, 
 though we must stay and put up with it 
 all, and never, never escape. But where 
 will you go ? You have no money, not 
 enough scarcely to pay your railway fare. 
 You would have to take to teaching ; and 
 where are you to go ?" 
 
 " I have some friends left," cried Regi- 
 nald, his lips quivering, " some people care 
 for me still and would hold out a hand. 
 I am — not — quite so badly off as he thinks ; 
 I could go to town, or to Oxford — or — " 
 
 "You don't know where; and here is a 
 nice old-fashioned house all ready for you 
 to step into, and an income," cried Ursula,
 
 A DOMESTIC CRISIS. 311 
 
 her tone deepening to mark the capital 
 letter ; " an Income, quite sure and 
 ready — without any difficulty, without any 
 trouble, all if you say yes. Oh, only 
 think what a comfort for us all to be able 
 to rush to you when we are in trouble ! 
 Think of Johnny and Robin ; and that 
 delightful wainscoted room for your study, 
 with the bookcases all ready — and plenty of 
 money to buy books." This being the 
 highest point to which Ursula could reach, 
 she dropped down after it into an insinua- 
 ting half whisper, "And plenty of work 
 to do, dear Reginald, plenty of work in 
 the parish, you may be sure, if you will only 
 help the Rector; or here where you are 
 working already, and where you may be 
 sure nobody will think of paying you. 
 Oh, Reginald, there is plenty, plenty of 
 work." 
 
 The young man was already beginning 
 to melt. " Do you think so ?" he said. 
 
 " Think !" cried Janey, " I am sure you 
 may do all papa's work for him and wel-
 
 312 
 
 come, if that is all. For my part I think 
 you are very silly, both Ursula and you. 
 Work ! Pay is far better if you weren't 
 such a pair of simpletons. After all, he 
 has a little reason to be angry. Good 
 gracious ! why shouldn't you take it'? 
 Some one else will, if you won't. I would 
 in a minute, and so would Ursula if we 
 could. And why should you be so much 
 grander than anybody else ? I think it is 
 quite childish for my part." 
 
 " Eeginald, never mind her, she is only 
 a child and doesn't understand (" Child 
 yourself," cried Janey). I don't understand 
 very well, but still I can see what you 
 want. Oh, you might find such quantities 
 of work, things nobody is ever found 
 to do. What do the fellows do at 
 Oxford that they get that money for ? I 
 have heard you say you would be very 
 glad to get a fellowship — " 
 
 " That is different, that is a reward of 
 scholarship." 
 
 " Well, and so is this too," said Ursula,
 
 A DOMESTIC CRISIS. 313 
 
 " It is (I am sure) because the old men 
 knew you were one that would be kind. 
 You were always kind, Reginald, that is 
 what it is for." 
 
 " The old men have nothing to do with 
 it," he said shaking his head, " it is the 
 Corporation, and they are — " 
 
 " Very rich men, Reginald dear, a 
 great many of them, very sensible ; what 
 does it matter about their education ? And 
 then you would be a really educated man, 
 always ready to do anything that was 
 wanted in Carlingford Don't you see 
 that was their meaning ? They pay you 
 for that which is not work, but they will 
 find you plenty of work they don't pay 
 for. That is what they mean ; and oh, 
 Reginald, to run over to you there in that 
 pretty wainscoted room, and to have you 
 coming in to us every day, and to know 
 that you were there to stand by us !" 
 
 Here once more Ursula began to cry. 
 As for Janey, she made a dash at the 
 writing table and brought him paper and
 
 314 PH(EBE, JUNIOR. 
 
 pens and ink, « Say yes, say yes," she 
 cried, " Oh, Reginald, if it was only to 
 spite papa !" 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 London i Printed hy A. Sciiuke, 13, Poland Street.