The Prince has taken Carlisle! It is said that he is marching on Derby as fast as his troops can come. Everybody is in a flutter. I can guess where Father is, and how excited he will be. I know he would go to wait on his Royal Highness directly, and I should not wonder if a number of the officers are quartered at Brocklebank—were, I should say. I almost wish we were there! But when I said so to Ephraim, who comes every Tuesday, such a strange look of pain came into his eyes, and he said, “Don’t, Cary!” so sadly. I wonder what the next thing will be!
After I had written this, came one of Grandmamma’s extra assemblies—Oh, I should have altered my date! it is so troublesome—on Thursday evening, and I looked round, and could not see one red ribbon that was not mixed with white. A great many wore plain white, and among them Miss Newton. I sat down by her.
“How do you this evening, Miss Newton?” I mischievously asked. “I am so delighted to see you become a Tory since I saw you last Tuesday.”
“How do you know I was not one before?” asked she, laughing.
“Your ribbons were not,” said I. “They were red on Tuesday.”
“Well, you ought to compliment me on the suddenness of my conversion,” said she: “for I never was a trimmer. Oh, how absurd it is to make ribbons and patches mean things! Why should one not wear red and white just as one does green and blue?”
“It would be a boon to some people, I am sure,” said I.
“Perhaps we shall, some day, when the world has become sensible,” said Miss Newton.
“Can you give me the date, Madam?”