“Motives of delicacy, my dear Emilie,” said Mrs. Somers, softening her tone, but still with an air of dissatisfaction--“motives of delicacy, my dear Emilie, are mighty pretty sounding words; and at your age I used to think them mighty grand things; but I have long since found out that _motives of delicacy_ are usually the excuse of weak minds for not speaking the plain truth to their friends. People quit the straight path from motives of delicacy, may be, to a worm or a beetle--vulgar souls, observe, I rank only as worms and beetles; they cross our path every instant in life; and those who fear to give them offence must deviate and deviate, till they get into a labyrinth, from which they can never extricate themselves, or be extricated. My Emilie, I am sure, will always keep the straight road--I know her strength of mind. Indeed, I did expect strength of mind from her mother; but, like all who have lived a great deal in the world, she is, I find, a slave to motives of delicacy.” “Mamma’s delicacy is of a very different sort from what you describe, and what you dislike,” said Emilie. “But, since persisting in her reserve would, as I see, offend one whom she would be most sorry to displease, permit me to go this moment and persuade her to let me tell you the simple truth.” “Go--run, my dear. Now I know my Emilie again. Now I shall be able to do some good.” By the time that Emilie returned, Mrs. Somers was dressed: she had dressed in the greatest hurry imaginable, that she might be ready for action--instantaneous action--if the service of her friends, as she hoped, required it. Emilie brought the newspaper in her hand, which her mother had been reading the preceding night. “Here is all the mystery,” said she, pointing to a paragraph which announced the failure of a Paris banker. “Mamma lodged all the money she had left in this man’s hands.” “And is that all?--I really expected something much more terrible.” “It is terrible to mamma; because, depending on this man’s punctuality, she has bought in London clothes and trinkets--chiefly for me, indeed--and she has no immediate means of paying these debts; but, if she will only keep her mind tranquil, all will yet be well. You flatter me that I play tolerably on the piano-forte and the harp; you will recommend me, and I can endeavour to teach music. So that, if mamma will but be well, we shall not be in any great distress--except in leaving you; that is painful, but must be done. Yes, it absolutely must. Mamma knows what is proper, and so do I. We are not people to encroach upon the generosity of our friends. I need not say more; for I am sure that Mrs. Somers, who is herself so well-born and well-educated, must understand and approve of mamma’s way of thinking.” Mrs. Somers replied not one word, but rang her bell violently--ordered her carriage. “Do not you breakfast, madam, before you go out?” said the servant. “No--no.” “Not a dish of chocolate, ma’am?”