door. I laid down my pen resignedly and went to open: it was the pert
housemaid, who delivered "Mrs. Hampden's request that Miss Amelia
would kindly begin to dress."

"Dress for what?" said I, in impatient surprise. "This is Tuesday,
Miss," the pampered maid answered insinuatingly, "Mrs. Hampden will be
at home."

"So will I, Janet," I interrupted hastily, "and my present toilet is
quite good enough for the house."

With this rejoinder I closed the door a little forcibly, and went back
to my writing. I had only time to trace--"My darling Ruby,"--when,
without intimation or announcement of any kind, my step-mother burst
into my room, with her hair half dressed, and her toilet jacket flying
loosely about her,--

"Do you want to disgrace us in the eyes of these prattling servants,
Amelia Hampden?" she began in a hoarse undertone, beckoning towards
the hall outside: "the idea of not understanding my message any better
than that," she went on in a whisper of reproachful despair. "Anyone
would know, that when you've been away so long, you will be sure to
have people calling on you, so put away that"--she added imperatively,
pointing disdainfully to my treasured writing materials--"and dress
yourself. The Merivale girls, and the Hunters, and all those others
will be here before you are half ready."

I obeyed in placid silence; this was not the first hint which
circumstances had thrown out of what was before me, while I remained
at home. We were very stylish, very fashionable people, it seemed,