"You're too late, Lyra," said Annie. "I've just come from the Northwicks,
and another crushing beauty has got in ahead of your phaeton."

"Oh, _poor_ Annie!" Lyra began to laugh with agreeable intelligence.
"_Do_ come in and tell me about it!"

"Why is that girl going to take part in the theatricals? She doesn't care
to please any one, does she?"

"I didn't know that people took part in theatricals for that, Annie. I
thought they wanted to please themselves and mortify others. _I_ do.
But then I may be different. Perhaps Miss Northwick wants to please Mr.
Brandreth."

"Do you mean it, Lyra?" demanded Annie, arrested on her threshold by the
charm of this improbability.

"Well, I don't know; they're opposites. But, upon second thoughts, you
needn't come in, Annie. I want you to take a drive with me, and try my new
phaeton," said Lyra, coming out.

Annie now looked at it with that irresolution of hers, and Lyra commanded:
"Get right in. We'll go down to the Works. You've never met my husband yet;
have you, Annie?"

"No, I haven't, Lyra. I've always just missed him somehow. He seems to have
been perpetually just gone to town, or not got back."

"Well, he's really at home now. And I don't mean at the house, which isn't
home to him, but the Works. You've never seen the Works either, have you?"