Sophia ceased to take the initiative.  She still endeavoured to respect the understanding of a girl of whom she had heard that when her father’s fortunes were at a low ebb she had retrieved them by good management and personal industry—­a girl, too, who through years of toil had preserved sprightliness and perfect gentility.  What though this gentility was somewhat cramped by that undue importance given to trifles which is often the result of a remote life; it was still a very lovely thing, a jewel shining all the more purely for its iron setting of honest labour.  Sophia fought with the scorn that was thrusting itself into her heart as she listened when Miss Bennett now talked in a charming way about the public characters and incidents which interested her.

“I wish for your sake, Miss Rexford,” she said, “that some of the Royal family would come out again.  The only time that there is any real advantage in being in a colony is when some of them come out; for here, you know, they take notice of every one.”

“One would still be on the general level then,” said Sophia, smiling.

“Well, I don’t know.  It makes one feel distinguished, you know, in spite of that.  Now, when the Prince was out, he stopped here for a night, and we had a ball.  It was simply delightful!  He danced with us all—­I mean with all who could claim to be ladies, and indeed with some who could not; but how could he discriminate?  There was a man called Blake, who kept a butcher’s shop here then—­you may have noticed we haven’t such a thing as a butcher’s shop in the village now, Miss Rexford?”

“Indeed I have.  It seems so odd.”

“Blake had a handsome daughter; and when we had a ball for the Prince, didn’t he buy her a fine dress, and take her to it!  She really looked very handsome.”

“I hope the Prince danced with her,” laughed Sophia.  Her good spirits were rising, in spite of herself, under the influence of the liveliness with which Miss Bennett’s mind had darted, birdlike, into its own element.

“Yes, he did.  Wasn’t it good-natured of him!  I believe his aide-de-camp told him who she was; but he was so gracious; he said she should not go away mortified.  I never spoke to her myself; but I’ve no doubt she was unable to open her mouth without betraying her origin; but perhaps on that occasion she had the grace to keep silent, and she danced fairly well.”

“Was her head turned by the honour?” asked Sophia, led by the other’s tone to expect a sequel to the tale.

“Poor girl!  The end was sadder than that.  She caught a violent cold, from wearing a dress cut low when she wasn’t accustomed to it, and she died in a week.  When we heard of it I was glad that he had danced with her; but some were cruel enough to say that it served Blake right for his presumption.  He was so broken-hearted he left the place.  The dress she wore that night was a green silk, and he had her buried in it; and some one told the Prince, and he sent some flowers.  Wasn’t it sweet of him!  They were buried with her too.  It was quite romantic.”