'What am I like then?'—said Carteret, with a smile.
'Laughed at—scorned already!'—exclaimed Matilda, with almost a shriek. 'Oh! this is indeed the bitterness of boarders—inmates I mean.'
And throwing her head back against the wall, she burst into so loud a fit of sobbing that her sister looked round an instant from the piano, and then played harder than ever. At this moment Pliny the coloured boy came in, and walking up to Carteret said—'Missis sent me to ax what wine you choose.' And Carteret finding that, though in a private family, he was expected to add to the profits of his hostess by allowing her to furnish him with wine, mentioned a particular sort, and the boy conveyed the intelligence to Mrs. Meems, and was despatched to procure some from the nearest bottling cellar.
The table was set in the back parlour, the folding doors were carefully closed, and after a long time dinner was brought in. It was a plain one and rather scanty, and very plainly set out: Mrs. Meems informing Mr. Carteret that she had French china, silver forks, damask napkins, finger-glasses, and all such things. 'But'—said she—'of course we do not use them in common, just for ourselves, and we consider you as one of the family, and we know that it will always give you pleasure to find that we do not regard you as a stranger.'
At table the conversation (which turned on the last new fashions) was chiefly between Mrs. Meems and Matilda, the latter declaring, as she sat down, that her heart was too full to eat. Meeta said nothing, for two reasons—first, that she had not yet come out, and secondly, that she had nothing to say. At six years old she had been put to the piano, (for which it was supposed she possessed an extraordinary talent,) and as she showed no capability for any thing else, she was kept at music till she had nearly
