"They will perhaps go to the theatre--a number of them; and as nobody is in town they will laugh very much at the kind of people, and perhaps the kind of play--and it will be a great joke ever after among themselves--for of course there will be a number of them together," said Elinor, disclosing her acquaintance with the habits of her new family with downcast eyes. "How can well-born people be so vulgar and ill-bred?" cried Mrs. Dennistoun. "I must say for Philip that though he is careless and not nearly so particular as I should like, still he is not like that. He has something of the politeness of the heart." Elinor did not raise her downcast eyes. Phil had been on his very good behaviour on the occasion of his last hurried visit, but she did not feel that she could answer even for Phil. "I am very glad anyhow, that she is not coming, mamma: at least we shall have the last night and the last morning to ourselves." Mrs. Dennistoun shook her head. "The Tathams will be here," she said; "and everybody, to dinner--all the party. We must go now and see how we can enlarge the table. To-night's party will be the largest we have ever had in the cottage." She sighed a little and paused, restraining herself. "We shall have no quiet evening--nor morning either--again; it will be a bustle and a rush. You and I will never have any more quiet evenings, Elinor: for when you come back it will be another thing." "Oh, mother!" cried Elinor, throwing herself into her mother's arms: and for a moment they stood closely clasped, feeling as if their hearts would burst, yet very well aware, too, underneath, that any number of quiet evenings would be as the last, when, with hearts full of a thousand things to say to each other, they said almost nothing--which in some respects was worse than having no quiet evenings evermore.