“Every evil calls forth its own correction, Dinah,” said he, laughing. “If there were no fools to skate on the Serpentine, there had been no Humane Society.” “One might grow tired of the task of resuscitating, Peter Barrington,” said she, hardly. “Not you, not you, Dinah,--at least, if I was the drowned man,” said he, drawing her affectionately to his side; “and as for those young creatures yonder, it's like gathering dog-roses, and they 'll stop when they have pricked their fingers.” “I'll go and look after the nosegay myself,” said she, turning hastily away, and following them. A real liking for Conyers, and a sincere interest in him were the great correctives to the part of Dragon which Miss Dinah declared she foresaw to be her future lot in life. For years and years had she believed that the cares of a household and the rule of servants were the last trials of human patience. The larder, the dairy, and the garden were each of them departments with special opportunities for deception and embezzlement, and it seemed to her that new discoveries in roguery kept pace with the inventions of science; but she was energetic and active, and kept herself at what the French would call “the level of the situation;” and neither the cook nor the dairymaid nor Darby could be vainglorious over their battles with her. And now, all of a sudden, a new part was assigned her, with new duties, functions, and requirements; and she was called on to exercise qualities which had lain long dormant and in disuse, and renew a knowledge she had not employed for many a year. And what a strange blending of pleasure and pain must have come of that memory of long ago! Old conquests revived, old rivalries and jealousies and triumphs; glorious little glimpses of brilliant delight, and some dark hours, too, of disappointment,--almost despair! “Once a bishop, always a bishop,” says the canon; but might we not with almost as much truth say, “Once a beauty, always a beauty”?--not in lineament and feature, in downy cheek or silky tresses, but in the heartfelt consciousness of a once sovereign power, in that sense of having been able to exact a homage and enforce a tribute. And as we see in the deposed monarch how the dignity of kingcraft clings to him, how through all he does and says there runs a vein of royal graciousness as from one the fount of honor, so it is with beauty. There lives through all its wreck the splendid memory of a despotism the most absolute, the most fascinating of all! “I am so glad that young Conyers has no plans, Dinah,” said Barrington; “he says he will join us if we permit him.” “Humph!” said Miss Barrington, as she went on with her knitting. “I see nothing against it, sister.” “Of course not, Peter,” said she, snappishly; “it would surprise me much if you did.” “Do _you_, Dinah?” asked he, with a true simplicity of voice and look. “I see great danger in it, if that be what you mean. And what answer did you make him, Peter?”