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that either; for Grandfather, you know, would be most grieved.”
    â€œHe would be most furious,” Malvinia said idly, again fussing with her dotted tulle veil, the which she was obliged to wear, even in the late afternoon, that her flawless complexion might not be rudely touched by the sun. “Indeed, since his retirement from the Court, he is likely to be thrown into a fury at any time. How unhappy Father will be, if—!”
    Samantha sighed in exasperation, for her orange yarn had become badly snarled; and it was always a source of uneasiness to her, that Malvinia, or any of her sisters, should take it upon themselves to discuss Mr. Zinn. She said: “Mother is quite certain that the election will be successful, for, I believe, Mr. Bayard thus informed her, tho’ the matter is of course confidential: and not to be chattered about, in every treetop and from out every window, as Pip would do.”
    Whereupon, for no clear reason, unless, of course, to forestall some small contretemps, Constance Philippa gave her pink fancywork a vigorous shake, and said suddenly: “Miss Delphine Martineau behaved disgracefully this afternoon—she flirted with all the men—not excluding Octavia’s widower, Mr. Rumford—or my fiancé—or Grandfather himself—or that insufferable Mr. Ormond, who reminds me so forcibly of a barnyard hog! I hope you all took notice?”
    â€œYou are most unfair to Delphine!” Malvinia cried. (For, indeed, she and the vivacious Miss Martineau were very close friends.) “She does not flirt, any more than I do: but simply converses with any of the gentlemen, no matter their age, who approach her. Yes, Constance Philippa, you are unfair, and I cannot think it very generous of you,” she continued, warmly. “As if Delphine should give a snap of her fingers for—well, for any of the men you mention!—any more than I should—”
    â€œYou are insulting Constance Philippa, and me,” Octavia said gently. “I beg you to reconsider your rash words.”
    â€œI will not hear Delphine slandered,” Malvinia said archly, “nor do I wish to reconsider anything I have said. If Constance Philippa speaks out of rank jealousy, or vile wicked envy, she should be more direct, and not hide behind cruel scatter’d shots!”
    In reply, the flush-faced elder sister flung her crocheting down upon the floorboards of the gazebo; and for a long terrible moment no one spoke. (Indeed, it was well for the sisters, that no servant hovered near; and that the great house was a sufficient distance away, that none of their elders might chance to spy upon them.) To her credit, Constance Philippa held her tongue, as she had been instructed to do, in such flurried circumstances, when the blood pulses too strenuously through the veins, and the sturdy bone undergarments give every impression of growing yet tighter. The eldest Miss Zinn was, as the reader might infer, a strangely troubled young lady, and not at all grateful, it seems, for her engagement to the Baron, nor made so ecstatically happy at the prospect of being a wife to him, as she should have been. She breathed with enforced calm, and paused yet further, and finally spoke: “Yet there was no cause, Malvinia, to insult Octavia and me—to boast that you would not give a snap of your fingers for my fiancé, and Octavia’s suitor! Indeed, that is most cruel. For, after all, I have not yet heard that the banns have been announced for you and the dashing young Cheyney.”
    Malvinia prepared a capricious retort; then, thinking better of it, began to hum rather loudly, a mannerism that could be counted on to annoy Constance Philippa; then, thinking better of that (for this lovely if impetuous child did have a warm heart), she turned suddenly to Octavia, and said: “But I did not mean to insult you! Of all things, dear Octavia, I did not mean that. Mr. Rumford is a