These two ladies brushed hair together in Zoe's room. That is a soothing operation, my masters, and famous for stimulating females to friendly gossip; but this time there was, for once, a guarded reserve. Zoe was irritated, puzzled, mortified, and even grieved by Severne's conduct. Fanny was gnawed by jealousy, and out of temper. She had forgiven Zoe Ned Severne. But that young lady was insatiable; Lord Uxmoor, too, had fallen openly in love with her--openly to a female eye. So, then, a blonde had no chance, with a dark girl by: thus reasoned she, and it was intolerable. It was some time before either spoke an atom of what was uppermost in her mind. They each doled out a hundred sentences that missed the mind and mingled readily with the atmosphere, being, in fact, mere preliminary and idle air. So two deer, in duel, go about and about, and even affect to look another way, till they are ripe for collision. There be writers would give the reader all the preliminary puffs of articulated wind, and everybody would say, “How clever! That is just the way girls really talk.” But I leave the glory of photographing nullities to the geniuses of the age, and run to the first words which could, without impiety, be called dialogue. “Don't you think his conduct a little mysterious?” said Zoe, _mal 'a propos_ of anything that had been said hitherto. “Well, yes; rather,” said Fanny, with marked carelessness. “First, a sick friend; then a bleeding at the nose; and now he won't drive to the lake with us. Arrears of correspondence? Pooh!” Now, Fanny's suspicions were deeper than Zoe's; she had observed Severne keenly: but it was not her cue to speak. She yawned and said, “What _does_ it matter?” “Don't be unkind, Fanny. It matters to _me.”_ “Not it. You have another ready.” “What other? There is no one that I--Fanny.” “Oh, nonsense! The man is evidently smitten, and you keep encouraging him.” “No, I don't; I am barely civil. And don't be ill-natured. What _can_ I do?” “Why, be content with one at a time.” “It is very rude to talk so. Besides, I haven't got one, much less two. I begin to doubt _him;_ and, Lord Uxmoor! you know I cannot possibly care for him--an acquaintance of yesterday.” “But you know all about him--that he is an excellent _parti,”_ said Fanny, with a provoking sneer. This was not to be borne. “Oh!” said Zoe, “I see; you want him for yourself. It is _you_ that are not content with one. You forget how poor Harrington would miss your attentions. He would _begin_ to appreciate them--when he had lost them.” This stung, and Fanny turned white and red by turns. “I deserve this,” said she, “for wasting advice on a coquette.” “That is not true. I'm no coquette; and here I am, asking your advice, and you only snub me. You are a jealous, cross, unreasonable thing.” “Well, I'm not a hypocrite.” “I never was called so before,” said Zoe, nobly and gently.