"I don't guess things well," she said. "Is one of your aunts coming?"

"My aunts!" repeated Rhoda, in supreme scorn. "Not if I know it, thank you. I said it was jolly. Why, Phoebe! to guess such a thing as that!"

"Well, I should be pleased enough if mine were coming to see me," said Phoebe, good-temperedly. "I don't know what else to guess. Has some one given you a present?"

"Wish they had!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Rhoda. "No, I'm sorry to say n.o.body's had so much good sense. But there's somebody--I shall have to tell you sooner or later, you stupid goose, so I may as well do it now-- somebody's coming to Number Four. Mrs Eleanor Darcy, a cousin of my Lord Polesworth--only think!--and (that's best of all) she's got a nephew."

"How is that best of all?" asked Phoebe.

"Mr Marcus Welles--isn't it a pretty name?--and he will come with her, to settle her in her new house. '_Why_?' Oh, what a silly Phoebe you are! He has three thousand a year."

"Then I should think he might take better care of his aunt than let her be an indigent gentlewoman," said Phoebe, rather warmly.

"As if he would want to be pothered with an old aunt!" cried Rhoda.

"But I'll tell you what (you are so silly, you want telling everything!)--I mean to set my cap at him."

"Won't you have some cleaner lace on it first?" suggested Phoebe, with the exceedingly quiet, dry fun which was one of her characteristics.

"You stupid, literal thing!" said Rhoda. "I might as well talk to the cat. Oh, here you come, Molly! Now for tea, if 'tis ready, and then--"

Madam was already at the tea-table, and Baxter was just bringing in the kettle.

"I trust you have had a pleasant walk, my dears," said she, kindly, as the four girls filed in--Molly first, Phoebe last.

"Middling," said Molly, taking the initiative as usual. "Robbed seventeen birds' nests, climbed twenty-four trees, and jumped over a dozen five-barred gates."

"Oh, did you!" murmured Phoebe, in a shocked tone, too horrified for silence.

Rhoda went into convulsions behind her handkerchief.

"Innocent little darling!" exclaimed Molly; "she thinks we did!"

"You said so," answered Phoebe, reproachfully.

"You are so smart, my dear Mrs Molly," said Madam, smilingly. "Did you all walk together?"

"No, I thank you!" responded Molly. "Gatty and the innocent little dear went to a Quakers' meeting."

Had Madam taken the a.s.sertion literally, she would have been alarmed and horrified indeed; for at that time all Dissenters were considered dangerous characters, and Quakers the worst of all. But, recognising it as one of Molly's flights of intellect, she smiled placidly, and said no more.

"My dear, I think you will be acquainted with Mrs Eleanor Darcy?" asked Madam, addressing herself to Gatty.

"She has visited my mother, but only once," answered Gatty.

"Oh, the pootsy-bootsy!" broke in Molly. "Isn't she a sweet, charming, handsome creature?--the precious dear!"

"I fear she doth not please you, Mrs Molly?" asked Madam, interpreting Molly's exclamation by the rule of contrary.

"She's the ugliest old baboon that ever grinned!" was Molly's complimentary reply.

"What say you, Mrs Gatty?"

"She is certainly not handsome," answered Gatty, apparently with some reluctance; "but I have heard her well spoken of, as very kind and good."

"Have you met with Mr Welles, her nephew, my dear?"

Molly had clasped her hands, leaned back, lifted her eyes with an expression of sentimental rapture, and was executing an effective _tableau vivant_.

"Yes, I have seen him two or three times," said Gatty.

"Is he a young man of an agreeable turn?" inquired Madam.

"He is very handsome," replied Gatty, rather doubtfully, as if she hardly knew what to say.

"Pleasant as a companion?" pursued Madam.

"People generally think so, I believe," answered Gatty, with studied vagueness.

"You dear old concatenation, you'll get nothing out of my wretch of a sister," impetuously cried Molly.

"I'll tell you all about Marcus. He's the brightest eyes that ever shone, and the sweetest voice that praised your fine eyes, and the most delightful manners! White hands, and a capital leg, and never treads on your corns. Oh, there's n.o.body like him. I mean to marry him."

"Molly!" said Gatty. It was the first time she had offered anything like a reproof to her sister.

"Now, you hold your tongue, Mrs Prude!" responded Molly. "You're not a bit better than I am."

Gatty made no reply.

"Don't you set up to be either a prig or a saint!" continued Molly, angrily. "Betty's enough. She isn't a saint; but she's a prig. If ever you're either, I'll lead you a life!"

And there could be little doubt of Molly's fulfilling her threat.

The next day, Gatty and Molly Delawarr went home. Betty had quite recovered, and was gone to stay with a friend near Bristol; the house had been thoroughly disinfected, and was p.r.o.nounced free from all danger; and Lady Delawarr thought there was no longer need for the girls to remain away.

"I wonder what will become of me without you, Molly!" said Rhoda, dolefully.

"Oh, you'll have plenty to do, old Gatepost," observed Molly, apparently in allusion to Rhoda's uneventful life. "You've got to fall in love with Marcus. I'll cut you into slices if you do, and make b.u.t.tered toast of you."

"Good-bye!" said Rhoda laughing.

"_Vale_!" responded Molly.

"Good-bye, dear little Phoebe!" was Gatty's farewell. "I wonder what would have become of me if I had not met you and Mrs Dorothy. For I have asked Him to be my Friend,--you know,--and I think, I _think_ He will."

"I am sure of it. Good-bye."

And so Gatty and Molly pa.s.sed out of the life at White-Ladies.