If the reader has ever watched a great tragedy queen emerging from the flats, when, after a lively dialogue with the prompter, and the utterance of a pleasant jest, she issues forth upon the open stage, to vent the sorrows or the wrongs of injured womanhood, he may form some faint idea of the rapid transformation that Mrs. Ricketts underwent as she passed the door-sill. Her first movement was a sudden bound forwards, or, at least, such an approach to a spring as a body so imposing could accomplish, and then, throwing her arms wide, she seemed as if about to enclose Miss Dalton in a fast embrace; and so, doubtless, had she done, if Kate had responded to the sign. A deep and very formal courtesy was, however, her only acknowledgment of this spontaneous burst of feeling; and Mrs. Ricketts, like a skilful general, at once changing her plan of attack, converted her ardor into astonishment, and exclaimed, “Did you ever see such a resemblance? Could you believe it possible, Martha? A thousand apologies, my dear Miss Dalton, for this rudeness; but you are so wonderfully like our dear, dear friend Lady Caroline Montressor, that I actually forgot myself. Pray forgive me, and let me present my sister, Miss Ricketts. My brother, Mr. Scroope Purvis, Miss Dalton.” The ceremonial of introduction over, and Mrs. Ricketts being at last seated, a very tedious operation, in which the arrangement of cushions, pillows, and footstools played a conspicuous part, that bland lady began, in her very softest of voices, “This, indeed, repays me, amply, fully repays me! eh, Martha?” “Quite so, sister,” responded Martha, in a meek whisper. “A poor invalid as I am, rarely rising from a sofa except to snatch the perfumed odors of a violet in spring, or to listen to the murmurs of a rippling fountain; denied all the excitements of society by a nervous temperament so finely strung as to be jarred by contact, even the remotest, with inferior souls think of what ecstasy a moment like this affords me!” As Kate was profoundly ignorant to what happy combination of circumstances this blissful state could be attributed, she could only smile courteously, and mutter some vague expressions of her pleasure, satisfaction, and so forth. “Eve in her own paradise!” exclaimed Mrs. Ricketts, as she turned her eyes from Kate to the gorgeous chamber in which they were seated. “May I ask if the taste of these decorations be yours, Miss Dalton?” “Lady Hester Onslow's, madam,” said Kate, quietly. “I declare, I like these hangings better than 'Gobelins' they are lighter and more graceful. You remember, Martha, I told the dear Queen of Saxony that blue velvet would go so well with her small pictures. We discussed the point every morning at breakfast for a week, and the poor dear King at last called us the 'blue devils; 'very happy, wasn't it, Miss Dalton? But he speaks English just like one of ourselves.”