"Over what, I beg?" said Rhoda, rather haughtily.

Molly sang her answer:--

"'I lost my looks, I lost my health, I lost my wit--my love kept true; But one fine day I lost my wealth, And, presto! off my lover flew.'

"Isn't that about it, old Tadpole?"

"Your's hasn't," retorted Rhoda, carrying the attack into the enemy's country.

"No; I haven't lost my wealth yet," said Molly, gravely for her.

"Who told you?" whispered Phoebe.

"O Gemini! isn't that a good jest?" responded Molly, not at all in a whisper. "'Who told me?'--just as if three hundred and sixty-five people hadn't told me. Told me more jokes than one, too, Mrs Phoebe Latrobe; told me how _you_ sent off Master Marcus with all the starch washed out of him. Got-up Marcus in the rough dry--O Gemini!" and Molly almost shrieked with laughter. "Poor wretch! Hasn't had the heart to powder himself since. And she told him to his face he wanted the guineas.--Oh how jolly! Wouldn't I have given a pretty penny to see his face! Phoebe, you're tip-top."

"What on earth are you talking about?" asked Rhoda, with something of her old sharp manner.

"Talking about your true and constant lover, my charmer," said Molly.

"His heart was broken to bits by losing--your money; so he picked up the pieces, and pasted them together, and offered the pretty little thing to your cousin, as the nearest person to you. But she, O cruel creature!

instead of giving him an etiquet of admission to her heart, what does she but come down on the wretch's corns with a blunderbuss, and crush his poor pasted heart into dust. Really--"

"Molly, my dear!" said Betty, laughing. "Does a man's heart lie in his corns?"

"If you wish to know, Mrs Betty Delawarr, the conclusions to which I have come on that subject," replied Molly, in her gravest mock manner, "they are these. Most men haven't any hearts. They have pretty little ornaments, made of French paste, which do instead. They get smashed about once in six months, then they are pasted up, and n.o.body ever knows the difference. There isn't much, when 'tis nicely done."

"Pray, Molly, how many women have hearts?"

"Not one among 'em, present company excepted."

"Oh, Molly, Molly!" said Betty, still laughing. "I thank you, in the name of present company," added Rhoda; but there was a glitter in her eyes which was not mirth.

"Now, Red Gooseberries (rather sour just now), you listen to me," said Molly. "If you have got a heart (leave that to you!) don't you let it waste away for that piece of flummery. There's Osmund Derwent breaking his for you, and I believe he has one. Take him--you'll never do better; and if I tell you lies for the rest of my life, I've spoken truth this time.--Now, Fib, aren't you going to show such distinguished visitors into the parlour?"

"Oh, I beg your pardon!" exclaimed Phoebe; "I was listening to you."

"Madam, I thank you for the compliment," and, with a low courtesy, Molly gave her sister a push before her into the presence of Mrs Latrobe.

"Phoebe, come here!" cried Rhoda, in a hoa.r.s.e whisper, drawing her cousin aside into one of the deep recessed windows of the old hall, once the refectory of the Abbey. "Tell me, did Marcus Welles offer to you?"

"Yes," said Phoebe, and said no more. "And you refused him?"

"Why, Rhoda, dear! Yes, of course."

"Not for my sake, I hope. Phoebe, I would not marry him now, if he came with his hat full of diamonds."

"Make your mind easy, dear. I never would have done."

"Do you know, Phoebe, Aunt Anne has offered to put me in the Maidens'

Lodge?"

"She talked of it," said Phoebe, pitifully.

"I am not going there," responded Rhoda, in a decisive tone. "I'll go to service first. Perhaps, I can come down so much, away from here; but to do it here, where I thought to be mistress!--no, I could not stand that, Phoebe."

"I am sorry you have to stand any of it, dear Rhoda."

"You are a good little thing, Fib; I could not bear you to pity me if you were not. If Aunt Anne had but half your--"

"Phoebe, where are you? Really, my dear, I am quite shocked at your negligence! Carry the young gentlewomen up to their chambers, and let Rhoda wait on them. I take it extreme ill you should have left them so long. Do, my dear, remember your position!"

Remember her position! Phoebe was beginning to wish heartily that she might now and then be permitted to forget it.

The four girls went upstairs together.

"I say, Fib, did you ever shoot a waterfall in a coble?" inquired Molly.

Phoebe felt safe in a negative.

"Because I've heard folks say who have, that 'tis infinitely pleasant, when you come alive out of it; but then, you see, there's a little doubt about that."

"I don't understand you, Mrs Molly."

"No, my dear, very like you don't. Well, you'll find out when you've shot 'em. You're only a pa.s.senger; no blame to you if you don't come out alive."

"Who's rowing, Molly?" asked Rhoda.

"Somebody that isn't used to handling the oars," said Molly. "And if she don't get a hole stove in--Glad 'tis no concern of mine!"

"How does Gatty now?" asked Rhoda.

"O she is very well, I thank you," replied Betty.

"Is she promised yet?"

"Dear, no," said Betty, in a pitying tone.

"Rank cruelty, only to think on it," said Molly. "She'll just come in, as pat as vinegar to lettuce, to keep you company in the Maidens' Lodge, my beloved Rhoda."

Rhoda's lip trembled slightly, but she asked, quietly enough--

"Which is the vinegar?"

Molly stood for a moment with her head on one side, contemplating Rhoda.

"Been putting sugar to it, Fib, haven't you? Well, 'tis mighty good stuff to cure a cough."

"Phoebe," said her mother that evening, when prayers were over, "I wish to speak with you in my chamber before you go to yours."