Zoe's pride and goodness dictated her answer, in spite of her wishes. She said, in a low voice, “Go to your sick friend.” “There,” said Severne. “I hear,” said Fanny. “She means 'go;' but you shall repent it.” “I mean what I say,” said Zoe, with real dignity. “It is my habit.” And the next moment she quietly left the room. She sat down in her bedroom, mortified and alarmed. What! Had it come to this, that she felt her heart turn cold just because that young man said he could not accompany her--on a single evening! Then first she discovered that it was for him she had dressed, and had, for once, beautified her beauty--for _him;_ that with Fanny she had dwelt upon the delights of the music, but had secretly thought of appearing publicly on _his_ arm, and dazzling people by their united and contrasted beauty. She rose, all of a sudden, and looked keenly at herself in the glass, to see if she had not somehow overrated her attractions. But the glass was reassuring. It told her not one man in a million could go to a sick friend that night, when he might pass the evening by her side, and visit his friend early in the morning. Best loved is best served. Tears of mortified vanity were in her eyes; but she smiled through them at the glass; then dried them carefully, and went back to the dining-room radiant, to all appearance. Dinner was just served, and her brother, to do honor to the new-comer, waved his sister to a seat by Lord Uxmoor. He looked charmed at the arrangement, and showed a great desire to please her, but at first was unable to find good topics. After several timid overtures on his part, she assisted him, out of good-nature, She knew by report that he was a very benevolent young man, bent on improving the home, habits, wages, and comforts of the agricultural poor. She led him to this, and his eyes sparkled with pleasure, and his homely but manly face lighted, and was elevated by the sympathy she expressed in these worthy objects. He could not help thinking: “What a Lady Uxmoor this would make! She and I and her brother might leaven the county.” And all this time she would not even bestow a glance on Severne. She was not an angel. She had said, “Go to your sick friend;” but she had not said, “I will smart alone if you _do.”_ Severne sat by Fanny, and seemed dejected, but, as usual, polite and charming. She was smilingly cruel; regaled him with Lord Uxmoor's wealth and virtues, and said he was an excellent match, and all she-Barfordshire pulling caps for him. Severne only sighed; he offered no resistance; and at last she could not go on nagging a handsome fellow, who only sighed, so she said, “Well, _there;_ I advise you to join us before the opera is over, that is all.” “I will, I will!” said he, eagerly. “Oh, thank you.” Dinner was dispatched rather rapidly, because of the opera.