Rhoda came rustling in before much more could be said. She was full of details of the journey. What the Queen looked like,--a tall, stout woman, with such blooming cheeks that Rhoda felt absolutely certain she wore rouge,--how she was dressed,--all in black, with a black calash, or high, loose hood, and adorned with diamonds--how she had been received,--with ringing cheers from the Tory part of the population, but ominous silence, or very faint applause, from such as were known to be Whigs: how Sophia Rich had told Rhoda that all the Whig ladies of mark had made up their minds to attend no drawing-rooms the next season: how it was beginning to be dimly suspected that Lord Mar was coquetting with the exiled members of the royal family, and more than suspected that the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough were no longer all powerful with Queen Anne, as they had once been: how the Queen always dined at three p.m., never drank French wine, held drawing-rooms on Sundays after service, would not allow any gentleman to enter her presence without a full-bottomed periwig: all these bits of information Rhoda dilated on, passing from one to another with little regard to method, and wound up with an account of the presentation of the bouquet, and how the Queen had received it from Lady Diana with a smile, and, "I thank you all, young gentlewomen," in that silver voice which was Anne's pre-eminent charm. But half an hour later, when Gatty was asleep, Rhoda said to Phoebe,-- "I have made up my mind, Phoebe." "Have you?" responded Phoebe. "What about?" "I mean to marry Marcus Welles." "Has he asked you?" said Phoebe, rather drily. "Yes," was Rhoda's short answer. Phoebe lay silent. "Well?" said Rhoda, rather sharply. "I think, Cousin, I had better be quiet," answered Phoebe; "for I am afraid I can't say what you want me." "What I want you!" echoed Rhoda, more sharply than ever. "What do I want you to say, Mrs Prude, if you please?" "Well, I suppose you would like me to say I was glad: and I am not: so I can't." "I don't suppose it signifies to us whether you are glad or sorry," snapped Rhoda. "But why aren't you glad?--you never thought he'd marry you, surely?" Phoebe said "No" with a little laugh, as she thought how very far she was from any such expectation, and how very much farther from any wish for it. But Rhoda was not satisfied. "Well, then, what's the matter?" said she. "Do you want me to say, Cousin?" "Of course I do! Should I have asked you if I didn't?" "I am afraid he does not love you." Rhoda sat up on her elbow, with an ejaculation of amazement. "If I ever heard such nonsense? What do you know about it, you poor little white-faced thing?"