Mrs. Siddons’s gravity at the casualty outlasted Lady Bell’s mercurial dismay, for the young lady soon proceeded to comfort herself more frankly than cunningly, with the consideration, “It was but two five-pound notes after all, and as I have lately provided myself with two suits, and you pay my travelling expenses, I shan’t want it at present.” The next day Mrs. Siddons set about trying among the acquaintances who gathered round her at every stoppage in her tour, whether she could not procure another situation for Miss Barlowe. The agreeable and obliging young lady was only Mrs. Siddons’s _compagne de voyage_, and would be no longer wanted by the actress when she should settle down for the winter in her home at Bath. Mrs. Siddons was fortunate in hearing at once of something moderately suitable, and directly communicated her doings and their success to Lady Bell. “My dear Miss Barlowe, you know I should like to have you with me always,” she broke the matter, “but what can I do? I am a poor woman, working hard for my family, and I must think of their interest before my own inclinations, or even those of my friends.” Lady Bell, in her brief season of security (for after the first few days, she had confided absolutely in Mrs. Siddons), and of mental enlargement and delight, had not looked farther than the day. She was so astounded and heartstricken by the tidings of her dismissal, that her pride was in abeyance for a moment. “Are you going to send me away from you, madam?” she asked, her eyes widening, her pouting lips drooping with distress and affright. “Oh! is not this too great a punishment for letting my money be stole?” “My dear Miss Barlowe,” repeated Mrs. Siddons, in remonstrance, “you make a great mistake. I have no right to punish your carelessness in letting your money go. I am planning for your good. Even if it were not so,” she added immediately, with the candour which was always in excess of her conciliatory qualities, “I have no room for you, or any call for a companion at Bath. I own, with pleasure, that I have already got fond of you, but you must see, unhappily, it is a fondness which I cannot afford to indulge, when I have my children to think of, in the first place,” and she turned and caressed her little Henry. Mrs. Siddons urged the plea as if it admitted of no contradiction. She urged the same plea many a time from youth to age, in trampling down generosity, and even justice, till the very world that worshipped her genius, was outraged by her family selfishness. In like manner, women urge it still, without doubt or stay, as if family selfishness becomes a divine right in the breasts of mothers.