"Two natures!" exclaimed Dora, "what can you mean?"
"I wish you would ask mamma some day," answered Amy; "she would tell you so much better than I can."
"She would find it so much trouble," said Dora, sadly; "I have not been taught like you." And she turned hastily away, and, scolding Margaret for being so slow in getting ready, declared it would not do to wait any longer, and ran down-stairs.
It was a happy thing for Amy that her dread of Mr Cunningham prevented her from indulging to its full extent the wish of accompanying her cousins to London, if Mr Harrington should consent to their going; but the incidents of the day had been quite sufficient to excite her imagination to the utmost. The magnificence of Rochford Park had realised many of her gayest dreams; and while her uncle and aunt, and her cousins, giving way to the weariness consequent on a long day, composed themselves to sleep, she felt quite at liberty to build a castle in the air, which should have all the splendour of the princely mansion they had left, without the drawback of its inhabitants. In a few moments she was living at a park, with her father returned from India, her mother in perfect health and happiness, and her cousins and Emily Morton on a visit to them. The house was filled with company; there were pleasant drives and rides, a pony for herself and a pony-chaise for her mamma, handsome dinners, and amusements of every kind for her father's visitors; and the chapel was also thought of, but it seemed inconsistent with her other dreams, and she could not decide upon its being used every day—perhaps once a-week would be sufficient. Then again the scene changed to London—to handsome shops, and beautiful dresses, and rich ornaments, just like Miss Cunningham's; and the delight of going to a play when she liked, having constantly new books, and being able to make presents to all her friends; and in the midst of this vision of grandeur, the carriage stopped at the little white gate of Emmerton cottage. Her mother's voice recalled her to herself; but even its much-loved gentle tone could not at that instant entirely content her. A feeling of dissatisfaction with everything had taken possession of her mind, and the gaiety of her spirit was fled.
But few words passed between Mrs Herbert and her brother, Mrs Harrington complaining of being extremely cold, and objecting to the horses being kept standing; and Amy was not sorry for this, as she longed to be quiet with her mamma after the excitement of the day. Her spirits, however, were too much depressed to be again roused even by the interest of talking over all she had done and seen; and after a few attempts at answering her mamma's questions, she gave it up in despair, and burst into tears. Mrs Herbert guessed directly what was the matter, on finding that Amy could assign no reason for her distress. Her cousins had not been unkind, her aunt had not been angry, she had seen everything she expected; but she was quite tired, and this was the only account she could give. "I suspect a night's rest will be the most certain means of making you feel happy again, my love," said Mrs Herbert; "suppose you prepare to go to bed, and I will hear all you can tell me to-morrow."
"I should like very much to talk to you to-night," replied Amy, almost sobbing; "I am very unhappy, but I cannot tell why."
"At any rate," continued her mother, "it would be better to wait a little while, and when you are ready to read, you shall come to my room, and then you can say all you wish, and go to bed afterwards with your mind at ease."
"But I would rather say it now," answered Amy, "if I only knew how to begin. I don't think, mamma, it makes me happy seeing fine places."
"Because you wish they were your own; is that the reason?"
"I long for them very much," replied Amy; "but, mamma, I have told you all about it before."