invitation to their father, while Lady Rotherwood pressed William to accompany them, and he was refusing.
'What are soldiers intended for but to dance!' said Lord Rotherwood.
'I never dance,' said William, with a grave emphasis.
'I am out of the scrape,' said the Marquis. 'I shall be gone before it takes place; I reserve all my dancing for July 30th. Well, young ladies, is the Baron propitious?'
'He says he will consider of it,' said Emily.
'Oh then, he will let you go,' said Florence, 'people never consider when they mean no.'
'No, Florence,' said her brother, 'Uncle Mohun's 'consider of it' is equivalent to Le Roi's 'avisera.''
'What is he saying?' asked Lily, turning to listen. 'Oh, that my wig is in no ball-going condition.'
'A wreath would hide all deficiencies,' said Florence; 'I am determined to have you both.'
'I give small hopes of both,' said Claude; 'you will only have Emily.'
'Why do you think so, Claude?' cried both Florence and Lilias.
'From my own observation,' Claude answered, gravely.
'I am very angry with the Baron,' said Lord Rotherwood; 'he is grown inhospitable: he will not let me come here to-morrow-the first Christmas these five years that I have missed paying my respects to the New Court sirloin and turkey. It is too bad-and the Westons dining here too.'
'Cousin Turkey-cock, well may you be in a passion,' muttered Claude, as if in soliloquy.
Lord Rotherwood and Lilias both caught the sound, and laughed, but Emily, unwilling that Florence should see what liberties they took with her brother, asked quickly why he was not to come.
'I think we are much obliged to him,' said Florence, 'it would be too bad to leave mamma and me to spend our Christmas alone, when we came to the castle on purpose to oblige him.'
'Ay, and he says he will not let me come here, because I ought to give the Hetherington people ocular demonstration that I go to church,' said Lord Rotherwood.
'Very right, as Eleanor would say,' observed Claude.
'Very likely; but I don't care for the Hetherington folks; they do not know how to make the holly in the church fit to be seen, and they will not sing the good old Christmas carols. Andrew Grey is worth all the Hetherington choir put together.'
'Possibly; but how are they to mend, if their Marquis contents himself with despising them?' said Claude.
'That is too bad, Claude. When you heard how submissively I listened to the Baron, and know I mean to abide by what he said, you ought to condole with me a little, if you have not the grace to lament my absence on your own account. Why, I thought myself as regular a part of the feast as the mince-pies, and almost as necessary.'
Here a request for some music put an end to his lamentations. Lilias was vexed by the uncertainty about the ball, and was, besides, too tired to play with spirit. She saw that Emily was annoyed, and she felt ready to cry before the evening was over; but still she was proud of her exploit, and when, after the party was gone, Emily began to represent to her the estimate that her aunt was likely to form of her character, she replied, 'If she thinks the worse of me for carrying the broth to those poor old people, I am sure I do not wish for her good opinion.'
Mr. Mohun was not propitious when the question of Lily's going to the ball was pressed upon him. He said that he thought her too young for gaieties, and, besides, that late hours never agreed with her, and he advised her to wait for the 30th of July.
Lilias knew that it was useless to say any more. She was much disappointed, and at the same time provoked with herself for caring about such a matter. Her temper was out of order on Christmas Day; and while she wondered why she could not enjoy the festival as formerly, with thoughts fitted to the day, she did not examine herself sufficiently to find out the real cause of her uncomfortable feelings.
The clear frost was only cold; the bright sunshine did not rejoice her; the holly and the mistletoe seemed ill arranged; and none of the pleasant sights of the day could give her such blitheness as once she had known.
She was almost angry when she saw that the Westons had left off their mourning, declaring that they did not look like themselves; and her vexation came to a height when she found that Alethea actually intended to go to the ball with Mrs. Carrington. The excited manner in which she spoke of it convinced Mr. Mohun that he had acted wisely in not allowing her to go, since the very idea seemed to turn her head.
CHAPTER XV: MINOR MISFORTUNES
'Loving she is, and tractable though wild.'
In a day or two Lady Rotherwood and her daughter called at the New Court. On this occasion Lilias was employed in as rational and lady-like a manner as could be desired-in practising her music in the drawing-room; Emily was reading, and Ada threading beads.
Lady Rotherwood greeted her nieces very affectionately, gave a double caress to Adeline, stroked her pretty curls, admired her beadwork, talked to her about her doll, and then proceeded to invite the whole family to a Twelfth-Day party, given for their especial benefit. The little Carringtons and the Weston girls were also to be asked. Emily and Lilias were eagerly expressing their delight when suddenly a trampling, like a charge of horse, was heard in the hall; the door was thrown back, and in rushed Reginald and Phyllis, shouting, 'Such fun!-the pigs are in the garden!'
At the sight of their aunt they stopped short, looking aghast, and certainly those who beheld them partook of their consternation. Reginald was hot and gloveless; his shoes far from clean; his brown curls hanging in great disorder from his Scotch cap; his handkerchief loose; his jacket dusty-but this was no great matter, since, as Emily said, he was 'only a boy.' His bright open smile, the rough, yet gentleman-like courtesy of his advance to the Marchioness, his comical roguish glance at Emily, to see if she was very angry, and to defy her if she were, and his speedy exit, all greatly amused Lady Florence, and made up for what there might have been of the wild schoolboy in his entrance.
Poor Phyllis had neither the excuse of being a schoolboy nor the good-humoured fearlessness that freed her brother from embarrassment, and she stood stock-still, awkward and dismayed, not daring to advance; longing to join in the pig-chase, yet afraid to run away, her eyes stretched wide open, her hair streaming into them, her bonnet awry, her tippet powdered with seeds of hay, her gloves torn and soiled, the colour of her brown holland apron scarcely discernible through its various stains, her frock tucked up, her stockings covered with mud, and without shoes, which she had taken off at the door.
'Phyllis,' said Emily, 'what are you thinking of? What makes you such a figure? Come and speak to Aunt Rotherwood.'
Phyllis drew off her left-hand glove, and held out her hand, making a few sidelong steps towards her aunt, who gave her a rather reluctant kiss. Lily bent her bonnet into shape, and pulled down her frock, while Florence laughed, patted her cheek, and asked what she had been doing.
'Helping Redgie to chop turnips,' was the answer.
Afraid of some further exposure, Emily hastily sent her away to be made fit to be seen, and Lady Rotherwood went on caressing Ada and talking of something else. Emily had no opportunity of explaining that this was not Phyllis's usual condition, and she was afraid that Lady Rotherwood would never believe that it was accidental. She was much annoyed, especially as the catastrophe only served to divert Mr. Mohun and Claude. Of all the family William and Adeline alone took her view of the case. Ada lectured Phyllis on her 'naughtiness,' and plumed herself on her aunt's evident preference, but William was not equally sympathetic. He was indeed as fastidious as Emily herself, and as much annoyed by such misadventures; but he maintained that she was to blame
