"I don't say that those duties are easy. Those who have no position in the world to keep up may be enviable in some respects. I'm sure I am often tempted to envy the people one sees riding in omnibuses," said Pauline, with what she felt to be a bold but forcible hyperbole. "But _noblesse oblige_. You and I are both born Cheffingtons. It may be all very well for the _bourgeoisie_ to indulge in sentiment, and sweet-hearts, and that sort of thing; but from us society expects something different. There are certain opportunities which, it appears to me, it is absolutely flying in the face of Providence to neglect. I know perfectly well that if the Hautenvilles had the slightest inkling of an idea that you had refused Mr. Bragg, Felicia would come flying back from Rome like a whirlwind. However, I will not dwell on that now. You are dreadfully worn out, my poor child, and your eyes will not be fit to be seen for a week. Rose-water the last thing before going to bed. There is nothing so soothing. Poor child! I _must_ steel myself to do my duty, May; but it really is excessively trying. Go to rest now, dear, and sleep off your agitation. To-morrow we will talk more calmly." May had gently withdrawn herself from her aunt's embrace, and had risen from her knees. "To-morrow I will go to Granny," she said quietly. "Ah, no, dearest! that cannot be. It is out of the question. But you may write to Mrs. Dobbs and hear what she says." Pauline had resolved to write herself to Mrs. Dobbs, detailing all she knew (and a great deal more which she thought she knew) about Mr. Rivers's conduct, and setting forth the change in May's position as the daughter of the future Lord Castlecombe. Things were very different from what they had been three or four months ago. Even Mrs. Dobbs--although she had turned out so disappointingly foolish as to this preposterous love affair--must see that. "Good night, dear child; you will get over this distress; and you will acknowledge hereafter, I am quite confident, that you have had a good escape. As to that odious woman, _she_ is sure to be miserable, whether he marries her or not, that's one comfort!" said Aunt Pauline. The sight of May's tearful white face exacerbated her virtuous indignation against Mrs. Bransby; nor was this feeling in the slightest degree mitigated by her strong desire that Mrs. Bransby should marry young Rivers, and take him out of their way for ever. "Good night, Aunt Pauline," answered May, bending down, and slightly touching her aunt's forehead with her lips. Pauline embraced the girl tenderly. "Poor darling!" she murmured. "Don't forget the rose-water." CHAPTER X. When May went up to her room, she neglected her aunt's advice as to the rose-water. She sat down beside the fire, and tried to think of what she had best do.