LITMIR.BIZ

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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 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 display of—of—beautiful things—and—and wealth.”

      “Glad to hear you were pleased,” said Mr. Copperhead, “no expense was spared 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, certainly, 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 suppose you'll be shocked if I offer you anything 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 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 tremor; “bring tea, Burton, 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 without taking something. It is old-fashioned, but then Mr. Copperhead—”

      “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 myself have scarcely recovered yet. The sort of people he chose to collect—people whom nobody knew.”

      “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 Carlingford. It is not a place like the Dorsets'; it is a poor little town where papa is one of the clergymen. We are not county people like them,” said Ursula, with 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 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. Copperhead, 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 any one else do. And Sir Robert, following him, looked so strangely different. 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 disagreeable 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 hundred 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 any one 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 grand big house that could make a disagreeable 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

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