Had Phoebe wished to tell out to Rhoda a recompense of distress equivalent to every annoyance which she had ever received from her, she could have wished for no revenge superior to that of this moment. For her, who had all her life, until lately, looked forward to dispensing her favours as the Queen of Cressingham, to be offered apartments in the Maidens' Lodge as an indigent gentlewoman, was in her eyes about the last insult and degradation which could be inflicted on her. She went white and red by turns; she took up the hem of her apron, and began to plait it in folds, with as much diligence as though it had been a matter of serious importance that there should be a given number of plaits to an inch, and all of the same width to a thread. Still she did not speak. Mrs Latrobe required no words to inform her of what was passing in Rhoda's mind. But she forestalled any words which might have come, by an affectation of misunderstanding her. "You see, my dear Rhoda," she said, in a would-be affectionate tone, "I am bound to do all I can for my only sister's only child. I would not do you so much injury as to suppose you insensible to the kindness I have shown you. Indeed, if you had been something younger, and had wished to learn any trade, I would willingly have paid the premium with you. And 'tis no slight matter, I can assure you. Eighty pounds would have been the least for which I could have put you with a milliner or mantua-maker, to learn her trade. But, however, 'tis no good talking of that, for you are a good nine years too old. So there is nothing before you but service, without you marry, or to take my Lady Betty's house. Now, my dear, you may go and divert yourself; we will not talk of this matter again till the young gentlewomen have ended their visit." And with a nod of dismissal, Mrs Latrobe rose and passed out of the room, evidently considering her duties exceeded by her merits, and leaving Rhoda too stunned for words. Trade, indeed! If there could be a deeper depth than the Maidens' Lodge, it was trade, in Rhoda's eyes. Domestic service was incomparably more respectable and honourable. As to matrimony, which her aunt had, as it were, flung into the scales as she passed, Rhoda's heart was still too sore to think of it. An hour later brought Betty and Molly. "How do you, Rhoda, dear?" inquired the former, kindly. "Well!--got over it, Red Currants?" interrogated Molly. "Over what, I beg?" said Rhoda, rather haughtily. Molly sang her answer:-- "`I lost my looks, I lost my health, I lost my wit--my love kept true; But one fine day I lost my wealth, And, presto! off my lover flew.' "Isn't that about it, old Tadpole?" "Your's hasn't," retorted Rhoda, carrying the attack into the enemy's country. "No; I haven't lost my wealth yet," said Molly, gravely for her. "Who told you?" whispered Phoebe.