’Among Mariana’s irregularities was a great aversion to the meal-time ceremonial,—­so long, so tiresome, she found it, to be seated at a certain moment, and to wait while each one was served, at so large a table, where there was scarcely any conversation; and from day to day it became more heavy to sit there, or go there at all; often as possible she excused herself on the ever-convenient plea of headache, and was hardly ever ready when the dinner-bell rang.

’To-day the summons found her on the balcony, but gazing on the beautiful prospect.  I have heard her say afterwards, that she had scarcely in her life been so happy,—­and she was one with whom happiness was a still rapture.  It was one of the most blessed summer days; the shadows of great white clouds empurpled the distant hills for a few moments, only to leave them more golden; the tall grass of the wide fields waved in the softest breeze.  Pure blue were the heavens, and the same hue of pure contentment was in the heart of Mariana.

’Suddenly on her bright mood jarred the dinner-bell.  At first rose her usual thought, I will not, cannot go; and then the must, which daily life can always enforce, even upon the butterflies and birds, came, and she walked reluctantly to her room.  She merely changed her dress, and never thought of adding the artificial rose to her cheek.

’When she took her seat in the dining-hall, and was asked if she would be helped, raising her eyes, she saw the person who asked her was deeply rouged, with a bright glaring spot, perfectly round, on either cheek.  She looked at the next,—­same apparition!  She then slowly passed her eyes down the whole line, and saw the same, with a suppressed smile distorting every countenance.  Catching the design at once, she deliberately looked along her own side of the table, at every schoolmate in turn; every one had joined in the trick.  The teachers strove to be grave, but she saw they enjoyed the joke.  The servants could not suppress a titter.

’When Warren Hastings stood at the bar of Westminster Hall,—­when the Methodist preacher walked through a line of men, each of whom greeted him with a brickbat or rotten egg,—­they had some preparation for the crisis, though it might be very difficult to meet it with an impassible brow.  Our little girl was quite unprepared to find herself in the midst of a world which despised her, and triumphed in her disgrace.

’She had ruled like a queen, in the midst of her companions; she had shed her animation through their lives, and loaded them with prodigal favors, nor once suspected that a popular favorite might not be loved.  Now she felt that she had been but a dangerous plaything in the hands of those whose hearts she never had doubted.