Phoebe, and not himself, who was in a rage. Thus, to the horseman who is
galloping at full speed, the hedges, trees, and houses seem rapidly to
recede, whilst, in reality, they never move from their places. It is he
that flies from them, and not they from him.

On Monday morning Miss Jenny Brown, the perfumer's daughter, came to pay
Phoebe a morning visit, with face of busy joy.

"So, my dear!" said she: "fine doings in Hereford! But what makes you
look so downcast? To be sure you are invited, as well as the rest of
us."

"Invited where?" cried Mrs. Hill, who was present, and who could never
endure to hear of an invitation in which she was not included. "Invited
where, pray, Miss Jenny?"

"La! have not you heard? Why, we all took it for granted that you and
Miss Phoebe would have been the first and foremost to have been asked to
Mr. O'Neill's ball."

"Ball!" cried Mrs. Hill; and luckily saved Phoebe, who was in some
agitation, the trouble of speaking. "Why, this is a mighty sudden thing:
I never heard a tittle of it before."

"Well, this is really extraordinary! And, Phoebe, have you not received
a pair of Limerick gloves?"

"Yes, I have," said Phoebe, "but what then? What have my Limerick gloves
to do with the ball?"