"Maybe not, but she might have helped taking the saint-pox," said Molly. "I believe she caught it from you," nodding at Phoebe. "But what vexed Mum most was that the grey goose actually made believe to be pleased when she lost her chance of the tinsel. Trust me, but Mum blew her up-- a little! All leather and prunella, you know, of course. Pleased to be an old maid!--just think, what nonsense. She will be an old maid now, sure as eggs are eggs, unless she marries some conventicle preacher. That would be the best end of her, I should think." Phoebe sat wondering why Molly paid so poor a compliment to her own denomination as to suppose that the natural gravitation of piety was towards Dissent. But Molly's volatile nature passed to a different subject the next moment. "I say, old Roadside, bring a white gown. The Queen's coming to the Bath, and a lot of folks are trying to make her come on to Berkeley; and if she do, a whole parcel of young gentlewomen are to be there to courtesy to her, and give her a posy, and all that sort of flummery. And Mum says she'll send us down, if they do it." "Who's to give the posy?" eagerly asked Rhoda. "Don't know. Not you. You won't have a chance, old Fid-fad. No more shan't I. It'll be some thing of quality. I'll tread on her tail, though,--see if I don't." "Whose?" whispered Rhoda; for Molly's last remark had been confidential. "You don't mean the Queen?" "Of course I do,--who better? Her grandmother was a baronet's daughter; what else am I? I'll have a snip of her gown, if I can." "O Molly!" exclaimed Rhoda in unfeigned horror. "Why not? I've scissors in my pocket." "Molly, you never could!" "Don't you lay much on those odds, my red currant bush. I can do pretty near anything I've a mind--when I _have_ a mind." Rhoda was not pleased by Molly's last vocative, which she took as an uncomplimentary allusion to the faint shade of red in her hair,--a subject on which she was peculiarly sensitive. This bit of confidence had been exchanged out of the hearing of Madam, who had gone to a cabinet at the other end of the long room, but within that of Phoebe, who grew more uncomfortable every moment. "Well, 'tis getting time to say ta-ta," said Molly, rising shortly after tea was over. "Where's that tit of mine?" "My dear, I will send to fetch your horse round," said Madam, "Pray, make my compliments to my Lady Delawarr, and tell her that I cannot but be very sensible of her kindness in offering Rhoda so considerable a pleasure." Madam was about to add more, but Molly broke in. "Come now! Can't carry all that flummery. My horse would fall lame under the weight. I'll say you did the pretty thing. Ta-ta! See you on Monday, old gentlewoman." She turned to Rhoda; threw a nod, without words, to Phoebe, and five minutes afterwards was trotting across the Park on her way home to Delawarr Court. CHAPTER SEVEN. DELAWARR COURT. "Le coeur humain a beaucoup de plis et de replis."