Ever since the visit of the Delawarrs, Rhoda had seemed disinclined for another call on Mrs Dorothy Jennings. Now and then she went to see Mrs Clarissa, when the conversation usually turned on the fashions and cognate topics; sometimes she drank tea with Lady Betty, whose discourse was of rather a more sensible character. Rarely, she looked in on Mrs Marcella. Mrs Jane had thoroughly estranged her by persisting in her sarcastic nickname for Rhoda's chosen hero, and letting off little shafts against him, more smart than nattering. On Mrs Darcy she called perpetually, perhaps with a view to meet him at her house; but all Mr Welles' alleged devotion to his dear Aunt Eleanor scarcely ever seemed to result in his going to see her at the Maidens' Lodge. When Rhoda met him, which she very often did, it was either by his calling at the Abbey, or by an accidental _rencontre_--if accidental it were--in some secluded glade of the Park. At length, one day, without any warning, a horse cantered up to the side door, and Molly Delawarr's voice in its loudest tones (and very loud they were) demanded where all those stupid creatures were who ought to be there to take her horse. Then Miss Molly, having been helped off, came marching in, and greeted her friends with a recitative-- "Lucy Locket lost her pocket; `Kitty Fisher found it!'" "My dear Mrs Molly, I am quite rejoiced to see you!" "No! you aren't, are you?" facetiously responded Molly. "Rhoda--I vow, child, you're uglier than ever!--mother wants you for a while. There's that jade Betty going to come of age, and she means to make the biggest fuss over it ever was heard. She said she would send Wilson over, but I jumped on my tit, and came to tell you myself. You'll come, won't you, old hag?" Rhoda looked at her grandmother. "My dear, of course you will go!" responded Madam, "since my Lady Delawarr is so good. 'Tis so kind in Mrs Molly to take thus much trouble on herself." "Fiddle-de-dee!" ejaculated Molly. "I'm no more kind than she's good. She wants a fuss, and a lot of folks to make it; and I wanted a ride, and some fun with Rhoda. Where's the goodness, eh?" "Shall I take Phoebe?" asked Rhoda, doubtfully. "You'd better," returned Molly, before Madam could speak. "You'll want somebody to curl your love-locks and stitch your fal-lals; and I'm not going to do it--don't you fancy so. Oh, I say, Rhoda! you may have Marcus Welles, if you want him. There's another fellow turned up, with a thousand a year more, that will suit me better." "Indeed! I thank you!" said Rhoda, with a little toss of her head. "My dear Mrs Molly, you are so diverting," smiled Madam. "You don't say so!" rejoined that fascinating young person. "You'll put on your Sunday bombazine, Rhoda. We're all going to be as fine as fiddlers. As for you"--and Molly's bold eyes surveyed Phoebe, seeming to take in the whole at a glance--"it won't matter. You aren't an heiress, so you can come in rags."