Judging from his conduct, Mr Derwent was as much pleased with Phoebe as she was with him. During the whole time she remained at Delawarr Court, he constituted himself her cavalier. He was always at hand when she wanted anything, at times supplying the need even before she had discovered its existence. Phoebe tasted, for the first time in her life, the flattering ease of being waited on, instead of waiting on others; the delicate pleasure of being listened to, instead of snubbed and disregarded; the intellectual treat of finding one who was willing to exchange ideas with her, rather than only to impart ideas to her. Was it any wonder if Osmund Derwent began to form a nucleus in her thoughts, round which gathered a floating island of fair fancies and golden visions, all the more beautiful because they were vague? And all the while, Phoebe never realised what was happening to her. She let herself drift onwards in a pleasant dream, and never thought of pausing to analyse her sensations. The absentees returned home in the afternoon of the third day. And beyond the roll of the coaches, and the noise and bustle inseparable from the arrival of eighteen persons, the first intimation of it which was given in the drawing-room was caused by the entrance of Molly, who swept into the room with tragi-comic dignity, and mounting a chair, cleared her voice, and held forth, as if it had been a sceptre, a minute bow of black gauze ribbon. "Ladies and gentlewomen!" said Molly with solemnity. "(The gentlemen don't count.) Ladies and gentlewomen! I engaged myself, before leaving the Court, to bring back to you in triumph a snip from the Queen's gown. Behold it! (Never mind how I got it,--here it is.) Upon honour, as sure as my name is Mary--('tisn't,--I was christened Maria)--but, as sure as there is one rent and two spots of mud on this white gown which decorates my charming person,--the places whereof are best known to myself,--this bow of gauze, on which all your eyes are fixed,--now there's a shame! Sophy Rich isn't looking a bit--this bow was on the gown of Her Majesty Queen Anne yesterday morning! _Plaudite vobis_!" And down came Miss Molly. "If I might be excused, Mrs Maria," hesitatingly began Mr Edmundson, who seemed almost afraid of the sound of his own voice, "_vobis_ is, as I cannot but be sensible, not precisely the--ah--not quite the word-- ah--" "You shut up, old Bandbox," said Molly, dropping her heroics. "None of your business. Can't you but be sensible? First time you ever were!" "I ask your pardon, Mrs Maria. I trust, indeed,--ah--I am not--ah-- insensible, to the many--ah--many things which--"