talking, that is a business which poor Ida never could manage with all the goodwill in the world.” And so the plain, practical stepmother settled the matter in her own mind; and only Pride could suggest that her plan was inconvenient, inconsiderate, or unkind. It was ultimately adopted by Ida, but with a reluctance and coldness which deprived both ladies of the encouragement and pleasure which they would have derived from cheerful, hearty, co-operation with each other in labours of love. CHAPTER VI. THE VISIT TO THE HALL. “The tulip and the butterfly Appear in gayer coats than I; Let me be dressed fine as I will, Flies, flowers, and worms excel me still.” WATTS. The visit of the sisters Aumerle, or rather the message which they had brought, had caused great excitement in the mind of Cecilia Bardon. One thought was now uppermost there, thrusting itself forward at all times, interfering with domestic duties, taking her attention even from her prayers; that thought was—how should she persuade her father to pay a visit to Dashleigh Hall! Dr. Bardon held out against entreaties for two days; on the third he yielded, having probably all along only made show of fight to avoid seeming eagerly to catch at an invitation from a titled acquaintance. The next question was—How was the visit to be paid? Four miles was a distance too great to be traversed on foot by Cecilia Bardon. “We could get a neat clarence from Pelton,” suggested the lady. “Pelton!” exclaimed the doctor,—“why, Pelton is six miles off! You’ll not find me paying for a clarence to go twenty miles to carry me to a place to which I could walk any fine morning. I’ve not money to fling away after that fashion.” “If only the Aumerles kept a carriage!” sighed Cecilia. “If they kept fifty I’d not ask for the loan of one,” said the doctor, with all the pride of poverty. “Dear me! how shall we ever get to Dashleigh Hall!” cried Cecilia. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll hire our neighbour the farmer’s donkey-chaise,—that won’t ruin even a poor man like me.” “A donkey-chaise!” exclaimed Miss Bardon in horror. “Why, you’ve been glad enough of it before now to carry you over to Pelton, when you had shopping to do in the town.” “Pelton,—why, yes,—shopping,—but to call on a countess!” “A countess, I suppose, is made of flesh and blood like other people; if she’s such an idiot as to care whether her friends come to her in chariots or donkey-chaises, the less we have to do with her the better, say I.” “But to drive through the park—to go up to the grand hall, to—to—to be seen by all the fine liveried servants—”