'Bear up, brave heart! we will be calm and strong;

Sure, we can master eyes, or cheek, or tongue,

Nor let the smallest tell-tale sign appear

She ever was, and is, and will be dear.'

RHYMING PLAY.

It was a hot summer's evening. Edith came into Margaret's

bedroom, the first time in her habit, the second ready dressed

for dinner. No one was there at first; the next time Edith found

Dixon laying out Margaret's dress on the bed; but no Margaret.

Edith remained to fidget about.

'Oh, Dixon! not those horrid blue flowers to that dead

gold-coloured gown. What taste! Wait a minute, and I will bring

you some pomegranate blossoms.' 'It's not a dead gold-colour, ma'am. It's a straw-colour. And

blue always goes with straw-colour.' But Edith had brought the

brilliant scarlet flowers before Dixon had got half through her

remonstrance.

'Where is Miss Hale?' asked Edith, as soon as she had tried the

effect of the garniture. 'I can't think,' she went on, pettishly,

'how my aunt allowed her to get into such rambling habits in

Milton! I'm sure I'm always expecting to hear of her having met

with something horrible among all those wretched places she pokes

herself into. I should never dare to go down some of those

streets without a servant. They're not fit for ladies.' Dixon was still huffed about her despised taste; so she replied,

rather shortly: 'It's no wonder to my mind, when I hear ladies talk such a deal

about being ladies--and when they're such fearful, delicate,

dainty ladies too--I say it's no wonder to me that there are no

longer any saints on earth----' 'Oh, Margaret! here you are! I have been so wanting you. But how

your cheeks are flushed with the heat, poor child! But only think

what that tiresome Henry has done; really, he exceeds

brother-in-law's limits. Just when my party was made up so

beautifully--fitted in so precisely for Mr. Colthurst--there has

Henry come, with an apology it is true, and making use of your

name for an excuse, and asked me if he may bring that Mr.

Thornton of Milton--your tenant, you know--who is in London about

some law business. It will spoil my number, quite.' 'I don't mind dinner. I don't want any,' said Margaret, in a low

voice. 'Dixon can get me a cup of tea here, and I will be in the

drawing-room by the time you come up. I shall really be glad to

lie down.' 'No, no! that will never do. You do look wretchedly white, to be

sure; but that is just the heat, and we can't do without you

possibly. (Those flowers a little lower, Dixon. They look

glorious flames, Margaret, in your black hair.) You know we

planned you to talk about Milton to Mr. Colthurst. Oh! to be

sure! and this man comes from Milton. I believe it will be

capital, after all. Mr. Colthurst can pump him well on all the

subjects in which he is interested, and it will be great fun to

trace out your experiences, and this Mr. Thornton's wisdom, in

Mr. Colthurst's next speech in the House. Really, I think it is a

happy hit of Henry's. I asked him if he was a man one would be

ashamed of; and he replied, "Not if you've any sense in you, my

little sister." So I suppose he Is able to sound his h's, which

is not a common Darkshire accomplishment--eh, Margaret?' 'Mr. Lennox did not say why Mr. Thornton was come up to town? Was

it law business connected with the property?' asked Margaret, in

a constrained voice.




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