Children are usually a great resource during the formal quarter of an hour which precedes a dinner in the country, and on one of these occasions a young lady, in talking to the eldest boy, called him Lord Stonebury. This touched Maria where she was most vulnerable, when the young lady’s mother immediately addressing the younger boy by the title of Lord Stonebury, covered her with tenfold confusion. It proved that her story was all known, and all remembered; and she, who was once the high-bred, the self-possessed Lady Ellersville, whose manner of receiving her company had been the admiration of the most polished society, was awkward, hurried; she addressed people by wrong names, did not hear when she was spoken to; there was a restlessness in her eye, and a rapidity in her utterance, very unlike the careless grace with which, without appearing to do anything, she once contrived to put every one at their ease. She feared she was not civil enough, and a sensation of humility prompted her to change her seat for the purpose of addressing some one to whom she had not already spoken,—then a movement of pride made her spirit rebel at so courting vulgar people, who would once have thought themselves honoured by a passing acknowledgment from her. This gave her manner an air of constraint. There was something out of keeping, and many wondered where was the charm of address which had been reckoned so bewitching. On another occasion the conversation happened to turn on the comparative beauty of the Lady D——s. One person remarked, that she “had always thought poor Lady Anne’s countenance the most attractive of all.” “I never saw her,” observed another, who had lately taken a place in the neighbourhood. “Oh, no! She married unfortunately, poor thing! and ran away with Captain B——. It was a sad business.” Maria’s burning face betrayed her confusion. The lady had scarcely uttered the unfortunate words, when she recollected before whom she was speaking. She stopped short, and a dead silence prevailed. She tried hastily to speak on some other subject, but every one felt awkward, and her unassisted efforts again subsided into silence. Lady Sotheron, distressed at the allusion, was confounded at its being seized by others, and the whole evening was to her one of painful endurance. At other times she suffered almost equally from the studious avoidance of topics that might in any way be applicable to herself. In solitude her reflections were all bitter, and in society something constantly occurred which brought her situation more painfully to her recollection.