This little piece of malice called for instant explanation, and Marian was very peremptorily checked by father and mother. “A girl may say a foolish thing to other girls,” said Mamma, “and I am afraid this Rachel, poor thing, must have been very badly brought up; but you ought to know better than to repeat a piece of nonsense like that.” “When are we to go, mamma?” said Agnes, coming in to cover the blush, half of shame and half of displeasure, with which Marian submitted to this reproof; “it is August now, and soon it will be autumn instead of summer: we shall be going out of town when all the fashionable people go--but I would rather it was May.” “It cannot be May this year,” said Mrs Atheling, involuntarily brightening; “but papa is to take a holiday--three weeks; my dears, I do not think I have been so pleased at anything since Bell and Beau.” Since Bell and Beau! what an era that was! And this, too, was a new beginning, perhaps more momentous, though not such a sweet and great revulsion, out of the darkness into the light. Mamma’s manner of dating her joys cast them all back into thought and quietness; and Agnes’s heart beat high with a secret and mercenary pleasure, exulting like a miser over her hundred and fifty pounds. At this moment, and at many another moment when the young author had clean forgotten _Hope Hazlewood_, the thought came upon her with positive delight of the little hoard in Papa’s hands, safely laid up in the office, one whole hundred pounds’ worth of family good and gladness still; for she had not the same elevated regard for art as her sister’s American admirer--she was not, by any means, in her own estimation, or in anybody else’s, a representative woman; and Agnes, who began already to think rather meanly of _Hope Hazlewood_, and press on with the impatience of genius towards a higher excellence, had the greatest satisfaction possible in the earnings of her gentle craft--was it an ignoble delight? The next morning the two girls, with prudence and caution, began an attack upon the Chancellor of the Exchequer touching the best room. At first Mrs Atheling was entirely horrified at their extravagant ideas. The best room!--what could be desired that was not already attained in that most respectable apartment? but the young rebels held their ground. Mamma put down her work upon her knee, and listened to them quietly. It was not a good sign--she made no interruption as they spoke of mirrors and curtains, carpets and ottomans, couches and easy-chairs: she heard them all to the end with unexampled patience--she only said, “My dears, when you are done I will tell you what I have to say.”