"Then she should have instructed some other gentleman," said Mrs. Poynsett. "A woman spoils all the effect of her doings by putting herself out of her proper place." "Perfectly disgusting!" said Julius. Cecil had decidedly not been disgusted, except by the present strong language; and not being ready at repartee, she was pleased when Rosamond exclaimed, "Ah! that's just what men like, to get instructed in private by us poor women, and then gain all the credit for originality." "It is the right way," said the mother. "The woman has much power of working usefully and gaining information, but the one thing that is not required of her is to come forward in public." "Very convenient for the man!" laughed Rosamond. "And scarcely fair," said Cecil. "Quite fair," said Rosamond, turning round, so that Cecil only now perceived that she had been speaking in jest. "Any woman who is worth a sixpence had rather help her husband to shine than shine herself." "Besides," said Mrs. Poynsett, "the delicate edges of true womanhood ought not to be frayed off by exposure in public." "Yes," said Raymond. "The gain of an inferior power of man in public would be far from compensated by the loss in private of that which man can never supply." "Granted," said Rosamond slyly though sleepily, "that it always is an inferior power of man, which it does not seem to have been in the actual case." "It was a point on which she had special knowledge and information," said Mrs. Poynsett. "And you were forced to thank her," said Cecil. "Yes, in common civility," said Raymond; "but it was as much as I could do to get it done, the position was a false one altogether." "In fact, you were all jealous," said Rosamond. At which everybody laughed, which was her sole intention; but Cecil, who had said so much less, really thought what Rosamond said in mere play. Those extorted thanks seemed to her a victory of her sex in a field she had never thought of; and though she had no desire to emulate the lady, and felt that a daughter of Dunstone must remember noblesse oblige, the focus of her enthusiasm was in an odd state of shifting. CHAPTER VIII Unsatisfactory On the evening of the party at Strawyers, Mrs. Poynsett lay on her sofa, thinking, with a trying recurrence, of that unfortunate and excellent German Dauphine, who was pronounced by the Duchess of Orleans to have died of her own stupidity. After a fortnight had brought no improvement, but rather the reverse, to poor Anne's wan looks and feeble languid deportment, Mrs. Poynsett had insisted on her seeing the doctor; and had been assured by him that there was nothing amiss, and that if Mrs Miles Charnock could only be roused and occupied she would be perfectly well, but that her pining and depression might so lower her tone as to have a serious effect on her health.