Hopes and Fears or, scenes from the life of a spinster. CHARLOTTE M. YONGE

yes, she was bent upon it. It was something about you. Oh! she wants to take you to stay with her in that horrible hole of hers in the City—very odd of her. What do you advise me to do, Miss Fennimore? Do you think those foreign wines would bring me down a little, or that they would make me low and sinking?’

      ‘Really, I have no experience on the subject!’ said Miss Fennimore, loftily.

      ‘What did mamma say?’ was poor Phœbe’s almost breathless question.

      ‘Oh! it makes no difference to mamma’ (Phœbe’s heart bounded); but Augusta went on: ‘she always has her soda-water, you know; but of course I should take a hamper from Bass. I hate being unprovided.’

      ‘But about my going to London?’ humbly murmured Phœbe.

      ‘What did she say?’ considered the elder sister, aloud. ‘I don’t know, I’m sure. I was not attending—the heat does make one so sleepy—but I know we all wondered she should want you at your age. You know some people take a spoonful of vinegar to fine themselves down, and some of those wines are very acid,’ she continued, pressing on with her great subject of consultation.

      ‘If it be an object with you, Miss Fulmort, I should recommend the vinegar,’ said Miss Fennimore. ‘There is nothing like doing a thing outright!’

      ‘And, oh! how glorious it would be to see her taking it!’ whispered Bertha into Phœbe’s ear, unheard by Augusta, who, in her satisfied stolidity, was declaring, ‘No, I could not undertake that. I am the worst person in the world for taking anything disagreeable.’

      And having completed her meal, which she had contrived to make out of the heart of the joint, leaving the others little but fat, she walked off to her ride, believing that she had done a gracious and condescending action in making conversation with her inferiors of the west wing.

      Yet Augusta Fulmort might have been good for something, if her mind and her affections had not lain fallow ever since she escaped from a series of governesses who taught her self-indulgence by example.

      ‘I wonder what mamma said!’ exclaimed Phœbe, in her strong craving for sympathy in her suspense.

      ‘I am sorry the subject has been brought forward, if it is to unsettle you, Phœbe,’ said Miss Fennimore, not unkindly; ‘I regret your being twice disappointed; but, if your mother should refer it to me, as I make no doubt she will, I should say that it would be a great pity to break up our course of studies.’