"There's no living in this world without plagues of some sort or other--but the pleasure of doing good makes one forget them all: here, look at this advertisement, my dear," said Lady Frances: "a gentleman, whom I have just met with in the pump-room, was reading it in the newspaper when I came in, and a whole knot of scandal-mongers were settling who it could possibly be. One snug little man, a Welsh curate, I believe, was certain it was the bar-maid of an inn at Bath, who is said to have inveigled a young nobleman into matrimony. I left the Welshman in the midst of a long story, about his father and a young lady, who lost her shoe on the Welsh mountains, and I ran away with the paper to bring it to you." Lady Diana received the paper with an air of reluctance. "Was not I very fortunate to meet with it?" said Lady Frances. "I protest I see no good fortune in the business, from beginning to end." "Ah, because you are not come to the end yet--look--'tis from Mrs. Hoel, of the inn at Cardiffe, and by the date, she must have been there last week." "Who--Mrs. Hoel?" "Miss Warwick, my dear--I beg pardon for my pronoun--but do read this--eyes--hair--complexion--age--size--it certainly must be Miss Warwick." "And what then?" said Lady Di, with provoking coldness, walking on towards home. "Why, then, my dear, you know we can go to Cardiffe to-morrow morning, find the poor girl, and, before any body knows any thing of the matter, before her reputation is hurt, or you blamed, before any harm can happen, convince the girl of her folly and imprudence, and bring her back to you and common sense." "To common sense, and welcome, if you can; but not to me." "Not to you!--Nay; but, my dear, what will become of her?" "Nay; but, my dear Frances, what will the world say?" "Of her?" "Of me." "My dear Di., shall I tell you what the world would say?" "No, Lady Frances, I'll tell _you_ what the world would say--that Lady Diana Chillingworth's house was an asylum for runaways." "An asylum for nonsense!--I beg your pardon, sister--but it always provokes me to see a person afraid to do what they think right, because, truly, 'the world will say it is wrong.' What signifies the uneasiness we may suffer from the idle blame or tittle-tattle of the day, compared with the happiness of a young girl's whole life, which is at stake?" "Oh, Lady Frances, that is spoken like yourself--I love you in my heart--that's right! that's right!" thought Clara Hope. Lady Diana fell back a few paces, that she might consult one whose advice she always found agreeable to her own opinions. "In my opinion," whispered Miss Burrage to Lady Diana, "you are right, quite right, to have nothing more to do with the _happiness_ of a young lady who has taken such a step." They were just leaving St. Vincent's parade, when they heard the sound of music upon the walk by the river side, and they saw a little boy there, seated at the foot of a tree, playing on the guitar, and singing--