“No, no!” eagerly interrupted Lady Emily; “you are the reverse of all that.  You are the picture of my Edward, and everything that is excellent and engaging; and I see by that smile you will go to the ball—­there’s a darling!”

Mary shook her head.

“I’ll tell you what we can do,” cried her persevering patroness; “we can go as masks, and Lady Juliana shall know nothing about it.  That will save the scandal of an open revolt or a tiresome dispute.  Half the company will be masked; so, if you keep your own secret, nobody will find it out.  Come, what characters shall we choose?”

“That of Janus, I think, would be the most suitable for me,” said Mary.  Then, in a serious tone, she added, “I can neither disobey nor deceive my mother.  Therefore, once for all, my dear cousin, let me entreat of you to be silent on a subject on which my mind is made up.  I am perfectly sensible of your kindness, but any further discussion will be very painful to me.”

Lady Emily was now too indignant to stoop to remonstrance.  She quitted her cousin in great anger, and poor Mary felt as if she had lost her only friend.

“Alas!” sighed she, “how difficult it is to do right, when even the virtues of others throw obstacles in our way!  And how easy our duties would be could we kindly aid one another in the performance of them!”

But such is human nature.  The real evils of life, of which we so loudly complain, are few in number, compared to the daily, hourly pangs we inflict on one another.

Lady Emily’s resentment, though violent, was short-lived; and in the certainty that either the mother would relent or the daughter rebel, she ordered a dress for Mary; but the night of the ball arrived, and both remained unshaken in their resolution.  With a few words Adelaide might have obtained the desired permission for her sister; but she chose to remain neuter, coldly declaring she never interfered in quarrels.

Mary beheld the splendid dresses and gay countenances of the party for the ball with feelings free from envy, though perhaps not wholly unmixed with regret.  She gazed with the purest admiration on the extreme beauty of her sister, heightened as it was by the fantastic elegance of her dress, and contrasted with her own pale visage and mourning habiliments.

“Indeed,” thought she, as she turned from the mirror, with rather a mournful smile, “my Aunt Nicky was in the right:  I certainly am a poor shilpit thing.”

As she looked again at her sister she observed that her earrings were not so handsome as those she had received from Mrs. Macshake; and she instantly brought them, and requested Adelaide would wear them for that night.

Adelaide took them with her usual coolness—­remarked how very magnificent they were—­wished some old woman would take it into her head to make her such a present; and, as she clasped them in her ears, regarded herself with increased complacency.  The hour of departure arrived; Lord Courtland and Lady Juliana were at length ready, and Mary found herself left to a tete-a-tete with Dr. Redgill; and, strange as it may seem, neither in a sullen nor melancholy mood.  But after a single sigh, as the carriage drove off, she sat down with a cheerful countenance to play backgammon with the Doctor.