no The Real Charlotte, 



" Now, Kate, you are always saying censorious things 

 about that poor woman. People can't help showing their 

 feelings sometimes, no matter how ugly they are ! All that 

 I can tell you is," said Lady Dysart, warming to fervour as 

 was her wont, " if you had seen her this afternoon as I did, 

 with the tears in her eyes as she described the whole thing 

 to me, and the agonies she was in about that girl, you would 

 have felt sorry for her." 



Mrs. Gascogne shot a glance, bright with intelligence and 

 amusement, at her cousin's flushed handsome face, and held 

 her peace. With Mrs. Gascogne, to hold her peace was to 

 glide into the sanctuary of her own thoughts, and remain 

 there oblivious of all besides ; but the retribution that 

 would surely have overtaken her at the next pause in Lady 

 Dysart's harangue was averted by the stopping of the car- 

 riage at Miss Mullen's gate. 



Francie lay back on her sofa after Pamela Dysart had left 

 her. She saw the landau drive away towards Bruff, with 

 the sun twinkling on the silver of the harness, and thought 

 with an ungrudging envy how awfully nice Miss Dysart was, 

 and how lovely it would be to have a carriage like that to 

 drive about in. People in Dublin, who were not half as 

 grand as the Dysarts, would have been a great deal too 

 grand to come and see her up in her room like this, but 

 here everyone was as friendly as they could be, and not a 

 bit stuck-up. It was certainly a good day for her when she 

 came down to Lismoyle, and in spite of all that Uncle 

 Robert had said about old Aunt Mullen's money, and how 

 Charlotte had feathered her own nest, there was no denying 

 that Charlotte was not a bad old thing after all. Her only 

 regret was that she had not seen the dress that Miss Dysart 

 had on this afternoon before she had got herself that horrid 

 ready-made pink thing, and the shirt with the big pink 

 horse-shoes on it. Fanny Hemphill's hitherto unquestioned 

 opinion in the matter of costume suddenly tottered in her 

 estimation, and, with the loosening of that buttress of her 

 former life, all her primitive convictions were shaken. 



The latch of the gate clicked again, and she leaned 

 forward to see who was coming. "What nonsense it is 

 keeping me up here this way ! " she said to herself ; " there's 

 Roddy Lambert coming in, and won't he be cross when he 



