'Lucy, listen to me.' She gave way to her natural piteous, pleading tone: 'I verily believe that this is the very turn. Remember how often a moment has decided the fate of a life!' She saw the expression relax into some alarm, and continued: 'The Fulmorts do not say so, but I see by their manner that his final decision will be influenced by your present proceedings. You have trifled with him too long, and with his mind made up to the ministry, he cannot continue to think of one who persists in outraging decorum.' Those words were effort enough, and had better have been unsaid. 'That is as people may think,' was all the answer. 'As he thinks?' 'How do I know what he thinks?' Heartsick at such mere fencing, Honor was silent at first, then said, 'I, for one, shall rate your good opinion by your endeavour to deserve it. Who can suppose that you value what you are willing to risk for an unladylike bet, or an unfeminine sporting expedition!' 'You may tell him so,' said Lucilla, her voice quivering with passion. 'You think a look will bring him back, but you may find that a true man is no slave. Prove his affection misplaced, and he will tear it away.' Had Honora been discreet as she was good, she would have left those words to settle down; but, woman that she was, she knew not when to stop, and coaxingly coming to the small bundle of perverseness, she touched the shoulder, and said, 'Now you won't make an object of yourself to-night?' The shoulder shook in the old fashion. 'At least you will not go to Ireland.' 'Yes, I shall.' 'Miss Charlecote, I beg your pardon--' cried Rashe, bursting in--(oh! that she had been five seconds earlier)--'but dressing is imperative. People are beginning to come.' Honora retreated in utter discomfiture. 'Rashe! Rashe! I'm in for it!' cried Lucilla, as the door shut, springing up with a look of terror. 'Proposed by deputy?' exclaimed Horatia, aghast. 'No, no!' gasped Lucilla; 'it's this Ireland of yours--that--that--' and she well-nigh sobbed. 'My bonny bell! I knew you would not be bullied into deserting.' 'Oh! Rashe, she was very hard on me. Every one is but you!' and Lucilla threw herself into her cousin's arms in a paroxysm of feeling; but their maid's knock brought her back to composure sooner than poor Honora, who shed many a tear over this last defeat, as, looking mournfully to Phoebe, she said, 'I have done, Phoebe. I can say no more to her. She will not hear anything from me. Oh! what have I done that my child should be hardened against me!' Phoebe could offer nothing but caresses full of indignant sorrow, and there was evidently soothing in them, for Miss Charlecote's tears became softer, and she fondly smoothed Phoebe's fair hair, saying, as she drew the clinging arms closer round her: 'My little woodbine, you must twine round your brother and comfort him, but you can spare some sweetness for me too. There, I will dress. I will not keep you from the party.'