It was well that she was philosophic, for her own poor misplaced romance was going singularly ill; so ill, indeed, that it might be said to have dwindled down to nothing at all. After his tender and respectful farewell to her on the night of Sir Jasper Standish’s Christmas ball, Pamela had hardly seen anything more of her once too ardent admirer. She told herself that ’twas all as it should be; he now understood the kind of girl she was; and his present attitude showed more true affection for her than his former light-minded persecution. If she had been born his equal, or if she had not been, humble as she was, a creature of principle, what could have parted them? for if ever there had been love---- Pamela was very valiant, and kept her courage up with such reflections. And she found considerable distraction in her work, and quite a fund of consolation in the increased success which it was bringing to her. But when events enabled her to coax a bit of happiness to someone else, through the witchery of her talents, it was more real satisfaction to her than the tot of the weekly accounts. * * * * * “Hats for these young ladies, Madam? Yes, Madam.” “A hat for this young lady,” said Lady Amelia Vibart, severely. She looked disapprovingly at Miss Pamela Pounce. She disapproved on principle of anyone whom she considered her inferior, and when a person belonging to the working classes was presuming enough, not only to have good looks, but to make the most of them, Lady Amelia considered it a direct attack on the prerogatives of those destined by Providence to hold a higher station. Only that she had been recommended to Madame Mirabel’s shop as the one place positively, in the whole town, where any self-respecting woman of fashion could get herself a hat to be called a mode, she would have walked out of the showroom at the mere sight of this creature, so tall and self-possessed, so white and ruddy, clothed in garments that fitted an indecently fine figure to positively scandalous nicety, a creature who moved as if _she_ were the condescending party, and carried taper hands each side of her waist-ribbon, not exactly akimbo, but with an air--yes, in very truth, an air of independence. Miss Pounce looked at her visitors reflectively; a high-nosed, haughty, short, stout lady, flanked on either side by two tall daughters, the one beautiful, astoundingly so, a perfect miracle of loveliness; and the other--plain. No doubt about that; pleasant, bright-eyed, witty-looking, but plain. “A hat for Miss?” said the milliner, her glance resting upon the less favoured but unmistakably the elder damsel. The high-nosed lady tossed her head. “Certainly not,” she said with a glare. Here she pushed the beauty forward, “For this young lady.” She looked round for a chair, let herself subside on a velvet stool, obsequiously advanced by Polly Popple, and began to talk very volubly and pompously.