'How big you are growing, child! there's hardly room enough for you!' remarked the matron. 'And now tell me the truth, Madge; what is the matter with you to-night?'
'I don't think there is anything the matter more than usual, Lady Cheshunt.'
'I know better than that. You were dull and distrait all dinner-time. True, there was no one to talk to but two married men, and that old twaddler, Bulrose; but a young lady should be always equally agreeable—that is one of the fundamental principles of good breeding.'
'If I seemed a little out of spirits you can hardly wonder. Papa's sadly involved state is enough to make me uneasy.'
'My dear, your papa has been involved ever since my first season—when my waist was only eighteen inches, and Madame Devy made my gowns. He is no worse off now than he was then, and he will go on being hopelessly involved till the end of the chapter. I don't see why you should be unhappy about it. He will be able to give you and Viola a tolerable home till you marry and make better homes for yourselves, which it is actually incumbent upon you to do.'
This was said with a touch of severity. Madge sighed, and the slender foot in the satin shoe tapped the ground with a nervous, impatient movement.
'Madge, I hope there is no truth in what I hear about you and Mr. Penwyn.'
A deep tell-tale glow burned in Miss Bellingham's cheek. She fanned herself vehemently.
'I cannot imagine what you have heard, Lady Cheshunt.'