"Thank you, Mr Hebblethwaite, I don't feel so at all," answered laughing Hatty. "And she really has no true polish--only a little outside varnish," said Cecilia. "If she were to be introduced at an assembly in Town, she would be set down directly as a little country girl who did not know anything. It is a pity she cannot see herself better." "There are some woods that don't take polish nearly so well as others," said Ephraim, in a rather curious tone. I felt hurt; was he turning against me too? "So there are," said Cecilia. "I see, Mr Hebblethwaite, you understand the matter." "Pardon me, Miss Osborne," was Ephraim's dry answer. "I am one of those that do not polish well. Compliments are wasted on me--particularly when the shaft is pointed with poison for my friends. And as to seeing one's self better--I wish, Madam, we could all do that." As Ephraim walked away, which he did at once, I am sure he caught sight of me. His eyes gave a little flash, and the blood mounted in his cheek, but he kept on his way to the other end of the room, where Fanny and Amelia sat talking together. I slipped out of the door as soon as I could. That wicked, deceitful Cecilia! How many times had she told me that I was a sweet little creature--that my life at Carlisle had given me such a polish that I should not disgrace the Princess's drawing-room! [Note 3.] And now--! I went into my garret, and told my book about it, and if I must confess the truth, I am afraid I cried a little. But my eyes do not show tears, like Fanny's, for ever so long after, and when I had bathed them and become a little calmer, I went down again into the parlour. I found my Aunt Kezia there now, and I was glad, for I knew that both Cecilia and Hatty would be on their best behaviour in her presence. Ephraim was talking with Fanny, as he generally does, and there was that "hawid" creature Mr Parmenter, with his drawl and his eyeglass and all the rest of it. "Indeed, it is very trying!" he was saying, as I came in; but he never sounds an r, so that he said, "vewy twying." I don't know whether it is that he can't, or that he won't. "Very trying, truly, Madam, to see men give their lives for a falling cause. Distressing--quite so." "I don't know that it hurts me to see a man give his life for a falling cause," saith my Aunt Kezia. "Sometimes, that is one of the grandest things a man can do. But to see a man give his life up for a false cause--a young man especially, full of hope and fervency, whose life might have been made a blessing to his friends and the world--that is trying, Mr Parmenter, if you like." "Are we not bound to give our lives for the cause of truth and beauty?" asked Amelia, in that low voice which sounds like an Aeolian harp. "Truth--yes," saith my Aunt Kezia. "I do not know what you mean by beauty, and I am not sure you do. But, my dear, we do give our lives, always, for some cause. Unfortunately, it is very often a false one."