On the morning after our opening scene, Captain Wareham was returning from his usual stroll, when, as he mounted the steps, a neat little damsel, with a milliner’s wicker basket on her arm, tripped lightly down them, dropping a graceful, coquettish curtsey as she passed. Captain Wareham wore a discontented aspect as he entered the drawing-room. “Caroline, was not that Miss Simperkin’s girl whom I met at the door?” “Yes, papa, she has been trying on Ellen’s ball-dress for to-morrow night.” “And so you run me up bills at the milliner’s, do you?” “This is Ellen’s first ball, papa,” answered Caroline in a deprecating tone, “and you know you are always annoyed if I do not look as nice as other girls, and so I thought you would wish Ellen to make a favourable impression at first. I have the beautiful gauze my aunt gave me, and I felt sure you would not like to see Ellen less well-dressed than me.” “Ah, well, I suppose it cannot be helped. I do not wish people to pity you for being shabbily dressed. I hate to be pitied.” At this moment a carriage and four drove up to the door. Ellen ran to the window. “Oh, Caroline! it is Lady Besville and her daughters; run and take off that black apron. Dear me! the room is all in confusion with Matilda’s lesson-books. There, put away the slate and the backboard.” Ellen inherited something of her father’s sensitiveness to the _qu’en dira-t-on_ of the world. “I wish it was summer,” whispered Caroline, “or that papa could afford us two fires.” The room was rendered tolerably tidy for the reception of Lady Besville, who always paid an annual visit to the Wareham family, although she was not in the habit of visiting the other country town gentry. It was a sort of tribute to the respectability of their conduct and of their connexions. Lady Besville was duly astonished at Matilda’s growth, she admired the stoutness of James, asked Ellen if she enjoyed the thoughts of her first ball, and said all the sweet little nothings, which are civilities and attentions, from the great to the little. Captain Wareham pressed some luncheon upon her ladyship; she owned she was very hungry, having had a long drive. Captain Wareham rang the bell with a vigorous pull, as if he felt assured a sumptuous repast only waited to be sent for, and in an easy and confident tone desired the one footman (who, if it had not been for his plush breeches and white stockings, would have been a footboy) to bring the luncheon.