Phoebe, Junior. Oliphant Margaret

be feared, Clarence said in something of his mother's spirit, with a warm sense of superiority, for he knew that the pastor's daughter was very unlikely to meet the Dorsets. Phœbe, however, was equal to the occasion.

      “I am not at all likely to meet them,” she said with a gracious smile. “For one thing, I am not going to enjoy myself, but to nurse a sick person. And sick people don't go to parties. Besides, you know the foolish prejudices of society, properly so called. I think them foolish because they affect me,” said Phœbe, with engaging frankness. “If they did not affect me, probably I should think them all right.”

      “What foolish prejudices?” said Clarence, thinking she was about to say something about her inferior position, and already feeling flattered before she spoke.

      “About Dissenters, you know,” she said; “of course, you must be aware that we are looked down upon in society. It does not matter, for when people have any sense, as soon as they know us they do us justice; but of course you must be aware that the prejudice exists.”

      Clarence did know, and with some bitterness; for Mr. Copperhead, though he did not care much, perhaps, about religion, cared for his chapel, and stood by it with unswerving strictness. His son, who was an Oxford man, and respectful of all the prejudices of society, did not like this. But what could he do against the obstinate dissentership of his father? This, as much as anything else, had acted upon the crowd the night of the ball, and made them all nobodies. He hesitated to make any reply, and his face flushed with shame and displeasure. Phœbe felt that she had avenged upon Clarence his mother's haughty politeness. She had brought home to him a sense of the social inferiority which was common to them both. Having done this, she was satisfied, and proceeded to soften the blow.

      “It cannot fall upon you, who are in so much better a position, as it does upon us,” said Phœbe. “We are the very head and front of the offending, a Dissenting minister's family! – Society and its charms are not for us. And I hope we know our place,” she said, with mock humility; “when people have any sense and come to know us it is different; and for the foolish ones I don't care. But you see from that, I am not likely to meet your cousins, am I?” she added with a laugh.

      “If you mean that they are among the foolish ones – ”

      “Oh, no; I don't. But you can't suppose they will take the trouble to find me out. Why should they? People entirely out of my range, and that have nothing to do with me. So you may be quite sure I am right when I say we sha'n't meet.”

      “Well,” said Clarence, piqued, “I am going to Easton, and I shall see you, if Mrs. Beecham will give me permission to call.”

      “She will give you the address along with that; but till then, good-bye,” said Phœbe. To tell the truth, she had no desire to see Clarence Copperhead in Carlingford. Perhaps he meant something, perhaps he did not – at this stage of the proceedings it was a matter of indifference to Phœbe, who certainly had not allowed “her affections” to become engaged. If he did mean anything, was it likely that he could support unmoved the grandfather and grandmother who were, or had been, “in trade?” On the other hand, was it not better that he should know the worst? Phœbe was no husband-hunter. She contemplated the issue with calm and composure, however it might turn out.

      “He asked me if he might call,” said Mrs. Beecham, in some excitement. “I don't care much to have you seen, my darling, out of your own father's house.”

      “Just as you please, mamma – just as it suits best,” said Phœbe, dismissing the subject. She was not anxious. A good deal depended on whether he meant anything or nothing, but even that did not conclude the subject, for she had not made up her own mind.

      “Why didn't you tell them about the Mays?” said Clarence, as the two ladies went out. “They live in Carlingford, and I should think it would be pleasant on both sides.”

      “My dear boy, you forget the difference of position,” said Mrs. Copperhead. “They are Dissenters.”

      “Oh, I like that,” cried Clarence, half angry, as himself sharing the disadvantages of the connection. “A needy beggar like May has a great deal to stand upon. I like that.”

      “But it is true all the same,” said Mrs. Copperhead, shaking her head. “And you can see the difference at once. I dare say Miss Beecham is a very clever young woman, but between her and Miss May what a difference there is! Any one can see it – ”

      “I am afraid then I am stupid, for I can't see it, mother. They are both pretty girls, but for amusing you and that sort of thing give me Phœbe. She is worth twenty of the other. As sharp as a needle, and plenty to say for herself. This is the kind of girl I like.”

      “I am very sorry for it. I hope that is not the kind of wife you will like,” said Mrs. Copperhead, with a sigh.

      “Oh, wife! they haven't a penny, either the one or the other,” said Clarence, with delightful openness, “and we may be sure that would not suit the governor even if it suited me.”

      In the mean time Mrs. Beecham and Phœbe were walking up the broad pavement of Portland Place towards their home.

      “It is pleasant to see the mother and the son together,” said Mrs. Beecham, who was determined to see everything in the best light that concerned the Copperheads. “They are so devoted to each other, and, Phœbe, dear – I don't like to talk in this way to a sensible girl like you, but you must see it with your own eyes. You have certainly made a great impression upon Clarence Copperhead. When he said he hoped to see you in Carlingford, and asked, might he call? it was exactly like asking my permission to pay you his addresses; it is very flattering, but it is embarrassing as well.”

      “I do not feel particularly flattered, mamma; and I think if I were you I would not give him the address.”

      Mrs. Beecham looked anxiously in her daughter's face.

      “Is it from prudence, Phœbe, or is it that you don't like him, that you wouldn't have him if he asked you?”

      “We must wait till he does ask me,” said Phœbe, decisively. “Till then I can't possibly tell. But I don't want him at Carlingford. I know that grandpapa and grandmamma are – in trade.”

      “Yes, dear,” said Mrs. Beecham, in a subdued voice.

      “Dissenters, and in trade; and he is going to stay with the Dorsets, fine county people. Don't give him the address; if we meet by chance, there is no harm done. I am not ashamed of any one belonging to me. But you can say that you don't think his father would like him to be visiting me at Carlingford – which I am sure would be quite true.”

      “Indeed he might go much farther without finding any one so well worth visiting,” said the mother, indignant, to which Phœbe nodded her head in tranquil assent.

      “That is neither here nor there,” she said; “you can always tell him so, and that will please Mr. Copperhead, if ever he comes to hear of it. He thought at one time that I was too entertaining. One knows what that means. I should like him to see how little I cared.”

      “But, my dear, Clarence Copperhead would be worth – a little attention. He could give a girl – a very nice position,” Mrs. Beecham faltered, looking at her daughter between every word.

      “I am not saying anything against Clarence Copperhead,” said Phœbe, with composure, “but I should like his dear papa to know how little I care, and that you have refused him my address.”

      This was all she said on the subject. Phœbe was quite ready to allow that Clarence was everything that her mother had said, and she had fully worked out her own theory on marriage, which will probably be hereafter expounded in these pages, so that she was not at all shocked by having his advantages thus pointed out to her. But there was no hurry, she said to herself. If it was not Clarence Copperhead, it would be some one else, and why should she, at this early stage of her career, attempt to precipitate the designs of Providence? She had plenty of time before her, and was in no hurry for any change; and a genuine touch of nature in her heart made her anxious for an opportunity of showing her independence to that arrogant and offensive “leading member,” who made the life of the office-bearers in