‘Rather selfish, Miss Ada,’ said Claude. ‘Stay here, Phyllis, now you are come,’ said Mr. Mohun, ‘I will go and speak to Ada.’ Phyllis was now captured, and made to take her place opposite to Reginald; but more than once she sighed under the apprehension that Ada was receiving a lecture. This was the case; and very little did poor Ada comprehend the change that had taken place in the conduct of almost every one towards her; she did not perceive that she was particularly naughty, and yet she had suddenly become an object of blame, instead of a spoiled pet. Formerly her little slynesses had been unnoticed, and her overbearing ways towards Phyllis scarcely remarked, but now they were continually mentioned as grievous faults. Esther, her especial friend and comforter, was scarcely allowed to come into the same room with her; Hannah treated her with a kind of grave, silent respect, far from the familiarity which she liked; little Henry’s nurse never would talk to her, and if it had not been for Phyllis, she would have been very miserable. On Phyllis, however, she repaid herself for all the mortifications that she received, while the sweet-tempered little girl took all her fretfulness and exactions as results of her illness, and went on pitying her, and striving to please her. When Phyllis came up to wish her good-night, she was received with an exclamation at her lateness in a peevish tone: ‘Yes, I am late,’ said Phyllis, merrily, ‘but we had not done dancing till tea-time, and then Eleanor was so kind as to say I might sit up to have some tea with them.’ ‘Ah! and you quite forgot how tiresome it is up here, with nobody to speak to,’ said Ada. ‘How cross they were not to stop the music when I said it made me miserable!’ ‘Claude said it was selfish to want to stop five people’s pleasure for one,’ said Phyllis. ‘But I am so ill,’ said Ada. ‘If Claude was as uncomfortable as I am, he would know how to be sorry for me. And only think—Phyl, what are you doing? Do not you know I do not like the moonlight to come on me. It is like a great face laughing at me.’ ‘Well, I like the moon so much!’ said Phyllis, creeping behind the curtain to look out, ‘there is something so white and bright in it; when it comes on the bed-clothes, it makes me go to sleep, thinking about white robes, oh! and all sorts of nice things.’ ‘I can’t bear the moon,’ said Ada; ‘do not you know, Maurice says that the moon makes the people go mad, and that is the reason it is called lunacy, after _la lune_?’