Then came the rough awakening from all my dreams,--childhood melted into womanhood,--and at sixteen I was taken up to town with my parents to "know something of the ways and manners of society," before finally 'coming out.' Oh, those ways and manners! I learnt them to perfection! Astonished at first, then bewildered, and allowed no time to form any judgment on what I saw, I was hurried through a general vague 'impression' of things such as I had never imagined or dreamed of. While I was yet lost in wonderment, and kept constantly in companionship with young girls of my own rank and age, who nevertheless seemed much more advanced in knowledge of the world than I, my father suddenly informed me that Willowsmere was lost to us,--that he could not afford to keep it up,--and that we should return there no more. Ah, what tears I shed!--what a fury of grief consumed me!--I did not then comprehend the difficult entanglements of either wealth or poverty;--all I could realize was that the doors of my dear old home were closed upon me for ever. After that, I think I grew cold and hard in disposition; I had never loved my mother very dearly,--in fact I had seen very little of her, as she was always away visiting, if not entertaining visitors, and she seldom had me with her,--so that when she was suddenly struck down by a first shock of paralysis, it affected me but little. She had her doctors and nurses,--I had my governess still with me; and my mother's sister, Aunt Charlotte, came to keep house for us,--so I began to analyse society for myself, without giving any expression of my opinions on what I observed. I was not yet 'out,' but I went everywhere where girls of my age were invited, and perceived things without showing that I had any faculty of perception. I cultivated a passionless and cold exterior,--a listless, uninterested and frigid demeanor,--for I discovered that this was accepted by many people as dullness or stupidity, and that by assuming such a character, certain otherwise crafty persons would talk more readily before me, and betray themselves and their vices unawares. Thus my 'social education' began in grim earnest;--women of title and renown would ask me to their 'quiet teas,' because I was what they were pleased to call a 'harmless girl--' 'rather pretty, but dull,'--and allow me to assist them in entertaining the lovers who called upon them while their husbands were out. I remember that on one occasion, a great lady famous for two things, her diamonds and her intimacy with the Queen, kissed her 'cavaliere servente,' a noted sporting earl, with considerable _abandon_ in my presence. He muttered something about me,--I heard it;--but his amorous mistress merely answered in a whisper--"Oh, it's only Sibyl Elton,--she understands nothing."