“It will be a perfect scene of enchantment, I have no doubt,” continued her cousin, “for Lady M. understands giving balls, which is what every one does not; for there are dull balls as well as dull every things else in the world.  But come, I have left Lady Juliana and Adelaide in grand debate as to their dresses.  We must also hold a cabinet council upon ours.  Shall I summon the inimitable Slash to preside?”

“The mention of her mother recalled Mary’s thoughts from the festive scene to which they had already flown.

“But are you quite sure,” said she, “that I shall have my mother’s consent to go?”

“Quite the contrary,” answered her cousin coolly.  “She won’t hear of your going.  But what signifies that?  You could go to church in spite of her, and surely you can’t think her consent of much consequence to a ball?”

Poor Mary’s countenance fell, as the bright vision of her imagination melted into air.

“Without my mother’s permission,” said she, “I shall certainly not think of, or even wish—­” with a sigh—­“to go to the ball, and if she has already refused it that is enough.”

Lady Emily regarded her with astonishment.  “Pray, is it only on Sundays you make a point of disobeying your mother?”

“It is only when I conceive a higher duty is required of me,” answered Mary.

“Why, I confess I used to think that to honour one’s father and mother was a duty, till you showed me the contrary.  I have to thank you for ridding me of that vulgar prejudice.  And now, after setting me such a noble example of independence, you seem to have got a new light on the subject yourself.”

“My obedience and disobedience both proceed from the same source,” answered Mary.  “My first duty, I have been taught, is to worship my Maker—­my next to obey my mother.  My own gratification never can come in competition with either.”

“Well, I really can’t enter into a religious controversy with you; but it seems to me the sin, if it is one, is precisely the same, whether you play the naughty girl in going to one place or another.  I can see no difference.”

“To me it appears very different,” said Mary; “and therefore I should be inexcusable were I to choose the evil, believing it to be such.”

“Say what you will,” cried her cousin pettishly, “you never will convince me there can be any harm in disobeying such a mother as yours—­so unreasonable—­so—­”

“The Bible makes no exceptions,” interrupted Mary gently; “it is not because of the reasonableness of our parents’ commands that we are required to obey them, but because it is the will of God.”

“You certainly are a Methodist—­there’s no denying it.  I have fought some hard battles for you, but I see I must give you up.  The thing won’t conceal.”  This was said with such an air of vexation that Mary burst into a fit of laughter.

“And yet you are the oddest compound,” continued her cousin, “so gay and comical, and so little given to be shocked and scandalised at the wicked ways of others; or to find fault and lecture; or, in short, to do any of the insufferable things that your good people are so addicted to.  I really don’t know what to think of you.”