Читать книгу The Manoeuvring Mother (Vol. 1-3) - Lady Charlotte Campbell Bury - Страница 11

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Tom Pynsent's ride with Miss Wetheral only led the way to repeated engagements at Wetheral on his part, and on Lady Wetheral's side, to affectionate welcomes and smiles upon his entrance. At every opportunity, and upon every occasion, Tom Pynsent was appointed to take charge of "dear Anna Maria," and her ladyship thanked him in flattering terms for the delightful accession of health which Miss Wetheral had gained by constant and agreeable horse-exercise.

Anna Maria did, indeed, gain both health and happiness from the repeated tête-à-têtes which fell to her lot with the man she loved. The tone of conversation, his shy manner—so like his manner with Julia—his anxiety to form fresh engagements to meet again; all convinced her his affections were surrendered to herself. Her cheek resumed its bloom, her eye regained its brightness, and her figure became more elastic; there was hope in her smiles, and lightness in her movements, which formed an extraordinary change in the once insipid Miss Wetheral. Anna Maria must ever appear gentle and peculiarly feminine, but she was no longer painfully inert or tranquil, to a death-like stillness. It was a rapid and complete change; a change which proved how powerfully unrequited love had dealt with a heart which could now rise at the touch of affection, from torpid listlessness, to the joys of life; which could spring at once from cold and weary melancholy, to the light and warmth of a joyous mind, revelling in happy prospects.

Sir John Wetheral perceived Tom Pynsent's attentions with pleasure. His honest heart and honourable feelings promised every happiness, he said, to a woman who could prefer heart to head, and, if Anna Maria had the sense to choose him instead of the lordlings whom Julia coveted, he could insure her a happy married life, if it were not her own fault. He wished he could prophecy equal content to Julia, but she had planned her own marriage, and she must abide the issue; Lady Wetheral must blame herself, if Julia was unhappy, for she had brought up her daughters to consider wealth and station a balance to the weight of matrimonial misery, and her remarks and sentiments taught Julia to believe she had done well in selling herself to the highest bidder.

Lady Wetheral never could endure her husband's observations, when they touched upon her government of children, and his present remarks brought down a thousand reproaches.

"I think, Sir John, you might spare me what I can only term abuse, and which you level at me now upon all occasions."

"My dear, you are wrong; abuse never issues from my lips."

"I call that abuse," she returned, "which throws blame over all my actions, and which is not true. You are imputing, I may say, infamous motives to me; and, while I am ever ready to advance my daughter's happy and respectable establishments, you thunder blame from your study, yet never assist yourself in a work of so much importance. Had it not been for me, Lord Ennismore would never have proposed to Julia, and, had I not watched Tom Pynsent, and drawn him constantly to Wetheral, he might never have transferred his affections to Anna Maria. In all this, Sir John, you have never assisted me; and what your conscience will accuse you of on your death-bed, I know not; mine will give me consolation in my last hour, in thinking I have performed my duties to my children. You are obstinately resolved to imagine Julia is marrying against her better judgment; but, my love, your time and mine is gone by, and we must not judge of a young woman's affection by our own feelings. I can quite understand Julia's attachment to Lord Ennismore, and she could not be expected to forego that attachment, to please your fastidious taste."

"This is not a matter of taste," replied Sir John; "it involves a deep principle. Julia is marrying Ennismore, because his title has blinded her judgment; her ambition is gratified, and her affections are yielded up to its influence. Your sentiments have fostered her conduct, and you will suffer by its effects, Gertrude."

"Sir John, any one would think you a professed booby," exclaimed his lady, warmly; "any one would suppose you mad to hear you croaking and grieving, because your daughter is on the point of marriage with a peer of large fortune, and excellent character."

"Ennismore has no character at all, Gertrude."

"Then Julia will govern him, Sir John; don't be uneasy about that."

"Not while his mother lives."

"Nonsense; Julia will do what she pleases; don't talk to me of old mothers; who ever minds their mothers? If Tom Pynsent cared for his mother, he would not pay attention to Anna Maria. No, no, that is a very poor plea against Lord Ennismore. If Tom Pynsent would propose at once, my girls might marry the same day; he intends to propose, of course, but he is a long time about it. He was quicker in asking Julia."

"He has learned experience," said her husband, smiling.

"Men are so stupid," returned Lady Wetheral; "they show their intentions, and yet linger at the threshold. I will find out his meaning the next time we meet, but I shall enter upon the subject with great tact—you need not look so alarmed."

"Remember the fate of Mrs. Primrose's attack upon Mr. Thornhill, Gertrude."

Lady Wetheral affected not to hear when any subject offended or interfered with her ideas of propriety; in this case, she was absolutely deaf, and her thoughts took a more excursive range.

"When my two daughters are disposed of, Clara will, of course, come forward, and her remarkable style of beauty will soon attract attention and admiration. I do not consider Clara particularly gifted, but her appearance will more than balance her want of intellect. Your pet, Chrystal, as you call her, will be a sort of companion for her, though the child is disgustingly forward and pert, as I always prognosticated she would be."

Christobelle was seated upon a stool at her father's feet, when this dialogue took place; he patted her head at the conclusion of Lady Wetheral's speech, and observed how companionable she had been, and still proved to be, in his solitude. "If," he remarked, "the other girls had been brought up to study, instead of being married from the nursery, they would prove better companions and better wives, in the duties they are resolved to encounter."

"That is a remark so like you, my dear, that I am somewhat weary of the dull round of sentiment; Miss Chrystal, what are you poring over?"

Christobelle rose, and presented her book.

"Ah, very well; Miss Edgeworth is very clever with her chemistry, and that prattling Rosamond, but she never married, and never will marry. I never allowed my girls to read these kind of books, to make them careless about their appearance, and disagreeably learned to men. I never found a clever woman anxious to please, and in general they do some extraordinary thing or other, like Miss Wycherly, who is clever, but she drives herself about in a very masculine manner. There, my dear, take back your book; if you turn out a reading lady, you will be an object of dislike, and men will shun you; but, pray remember, you belong to your father; I have no hand in your education."

"Chrystal will be a treasure to the man who wins her," said Sir John.

"Yes, yes, she will do for Leslie, or be a treasure to that dirty antiquarian, Cromleholm's son, Philip; but I wish to ask your opinion; must we really have Mrs. Pynsent at Julia's wedding?"

"How can you avoid it, Gertrude?"

"I wish I knew some method of avoiding the invitation, without giving offence."

"How so? You have formed an intimacy with her, and professed to esteem her."

"That's another thing. One esteems people for different reasons, and esteem means nothing. I always kept up an intimacy for the girls' sakes, but I cannot endure her very abrupt manners. She is very offensive."

"My dear Gertrude, you must manage your own affairs: you formed the intimacy, to my great astonishment."

"I never receive assistance from you, Sir John. Never mind how or why I formed the intimacy; it is sufficient that I wish to escape her society at Julia's wedding; can I manage it?"

"I think not."

"I must then endure her. I see Mr. Pynsent, Tom I mean, riding up the park; I must seek Anna Maria." Lady Wetheral hastily quitted the apartment.

Tom Pynsent arrived, and was ushered into the sitting-room, where Lady Wetheral was seated alone; she was apparently startled by his entrance.

"My dear Mr. Pynsent, there is an old saying, and not a very refined one, which has been exemplified in myself at this moment. I was thinking of you, and wishing to see you, as you entered."

"I am much obliged, Lady Wetheral; I am sure I am very much honoured by your thoughts; but where are the ladies?"

"Lady Ennismore has chaperoned some of the party in a drive to Shrewsbury. Lewis's shop has so many attractions for young people!"

"Is Miss Wetheral gone?" asked Tom Pynsent, in a tone of disappointment. "I want a hat, and I'll take this opportunity of riding to Shrewsbury. Any thing I can do for you, Lady Wetheral?"

"I have given Julia a commission, thank you. Anna Maria did not join the party. She is not very well this morning."

Tom Pynsent had risen to depart; he now reseated himself.

"Oh, if you have no commission to give me, I shall not ride so far; I can get a hat any time. I hope Miss Wetheral is not confined to her room."

"My daughter is not well, Mr. Pynsent. She looks much, very much improved by her exercise on horseback, and I am complimented upon her brilliant complexion and spirits, but I am not easy about her. I hope her fine complexion betrays no seeds of consumption; her spirits are not the spirits of health, I much fear."

"Good God! you don't think so!" cried Tom Pynsent, in alarm. "I thought Miss Wetheral never looked better than she has done for some weeks past."

Lady Wetheral shook her head.

"There is something not quite right, and I was wishing to see you, to observe that perhaps riding-exercise was too violent for her constitution. I think I must advise her to drive out in the phaeton, and try its effect; but many thanks are due to you, my dear Mr. Pynsent, for your kind and regular attendance upon my daughter. I have often heard her express much gratitude towards you."

"I shall be very happy, I am sure, to drive Miss Wetheral in any open carriage," remarked Tom, perfectly obtuse to the aim and end of his companion's purpose. "I can drive her to very many pleasant views."

"I thank you most sincerely for your more than kind politeness towards my daughter, which we all appreciate; but, my dear Mr. Pynsent, we must not draw down unnecessary observation; people are always inclined to remark upon—I think I must decline your agreeable offer, though with pain—I——."

"Well, and what can any one say if I drive out Miss Wetheral? There is no harm in attending an invalid in a drive, is there?"

Lady Wetheral laughed and coughed a little.

"No, Mr. Pynsent; no harm, though you have represented it so humorously; but remarks will be made, and are made. As a mother I feel those remarks, and I particularly beg you to understand, that it is quite against my own ideas of right—quite in opposition to my own feelings, that I am painfully called upon to withdraw my daughter from being publicly seen so frequently in your company, attended only by her servant."

Tom Pynsent twirled his hat, and was silent. Her ladyship proceeded.

"If the world, Mr. Pynsent, would only allow us to be happy our own way, how many agreeable hours might be enjoyed which are now denied us! Perhaps, as a mother, I was wrong in throwing my daughter so much in the society of a very agreeable man—the world says so; but I have the strongest dependence upon the discretion and dignity of all my daughters, therefore I have no fears: however, something is due to public opinion, and to that severe mentor, attribute the necessity of this painful task. I hope I have not given offence by my sincerity, Mr. Pynsent?"

Tom Pynsent was taken by surprise; his agreeable rides were ended, and his attendance upon Anna Maria at once suspended by the breath of public opinion. There was but one way of recovering his former position at Wetheral, and Lady Wetheral had won the day!

"I think it very extraordinary that I am not to ride with a lady I like. Do you think, Lady Wetheral, a man is to be blamed if a lady refuses him, and he should like to propose to another?"

"I should consider a gentleman very weak who pined for a woman's indifferent heart, Mr. Pynsent," replied her ladyship, turning away to conceal the triumphant expression of her countenance.

"I am glad you are of my opinion, Lady Wetheral. I was very sorry Miss Julia refused me, for I thought her a very nice girl, and I was extremely attached to her; but I saw she did not care about me. Miss Wetheral is always kind-hearted and polite, and I don't think she dislikes me. I am sure I don't know, but if I thought she cared for me, I should like, like very much to—I should like to see Miss Wetheral, if you please. Do you think, Lady Wetheral, she would let me see her?" Tom Pynsent became extremely red-faced.

"She would see you, I am sure, Mr. Pynsent. Anna Maria said particularly this morning, 'If Mr. Pynsent calls, I shall see him, but no other gentleman.' I will ring, and let her know you are here."

There was silence for some minutes; at length her Ladyship rose.

"I make no apology for leaving you a short time alone, Mr. Pynsent. My daughter will soon take my place, and we shall consider you our guest for the day. I make no stranger of you. I must attend an appointment with our bailiff, and their complaints are without end. Sir John often makes Roberts over to me. Do not let me find you flown upon my return."

"I hope I shall not have occasion to depart, Lady Wetheral," said Tom Pynsent, struggling for composure.

"I will allow no departure, Mr. Pynsent. Anna Maria must detain you prisoner till Roberts allows me to escape. Mind, I lay my commands upon you to remain at Wetheral."

Lady Wetheral had scarcely closed the door upon her own exit, when Anna Maria entered at the opposite end of the room, blooming and happy; her eyes sparkled with pleasure, as they rested upon Tom Pynsent.

"I only heard of your arrival this instant," she said, as they shook hands; "you have not been here alone long, I hope."

Tom Pynsent placed a chair for the young lady, and seated himself near her, but for some moments he did not speak. Miss Wetheral looked at him with surprise. Tom Pynsent at length broke the awkward pause.

"I am sorry you are ill, Miss Wetheral."

"I never was better in my life, Mr. Pynsent," replied Anna Maria, smiling. "What makes you suppose I am ill?"

"I thought you looked very well, Miss Wetheral, but I was told you were poorly, and I am sure you look as little like a consumptive person as any one I ever saw!"

"Who could invent such a fable?" inquired Anna Maria.

"I have heard something worse than that," continued Tom, hesitating, and walking to the window.

"Good heavens! about me! or any unpleasant news from Hatton?"

"Lady Wetheral says we are not to ride again together. I think it a very extraordinary thing, don't you?" Tom Pynsent looked at the distant Wrekin to appear unconcerned. He received no reply from Anna Maria.

"I think it a monstrous folly to deny one those kind of things," proceeded Tom, turning towards his companion, who sat gazing at him, pale as her own muslin dress. He was shocked at her appearance, and, forgetting his shyness in affectionate solicitude, he took both her hands in his.

"Miss Wetheral, do you mind it as much as I do? Just tell me if you mind it as I do?"

Anna Maria could only answer in alarm, and almost involuntarily "Yes."

Tom Pynsent could not command his feelings; he caught her in his arms, and saluted her with a kiss, which might have been distinctly heard in the hall.

"I like a girl who speaks her mind without affectation and nonsense, and there's a good fox-hunting kiss from your husband, if you will make me so, and we will ride together in spite of the devil."

Miss Wetheral's astonishment at the action, and her happiness at her lover's subsequent speech, prevented all reply; but she gave him her hand at once, though her face was covered with blushes. Tom Pynsent squeezed the little white hand with rapture, and her open dealing made a taciturn lover garrulous with approval.

"You do let me squeeze your hand, and you do not pretend to be offended because a man tells you he loves you! Who would have thought you were such an open-hearted, dear creature, without a bit of nonsense? Now, give me your other hand—there's a dear, beautiful girl as you are, and we may ride now to the world's end together. Perhaps, when we are married, you will ride with me to see the hounds throw off. I shall only hunt then three times a week. Lady Wetheral frightened me properly, when she forbid my riding with you; however, I shall stay here to-day, and we can talk over things. You will walk with me, my dear girl, won't you?"

"I am in a labyrinth, I really am bewildered, Mr. Pynsent," replied Miss Wetheral, timidly. "Do not fancy me silly, but I really am bewildered, and hardly know what to say."

"You have said enough, quite enough," cried Tom Pynsent, squeezing her poor hands into his enormous palms. "You have accepted me, and I shan't allow you to leave me; I shall follow you like a dog till we are married: a little walk will be the very thing to refresh you. Let us walk in the park, and look at the Wrekin, and talk of our wedding-day."

Miss Wetheral mechanically obeyed her lover's request; and they were deeply absorbed in conversation, pacing up and down the avenue, when the party drove home from Shrewsbury.

"Mrs. Primrose has succeeded tolerably well, Sir John," observed Lady Wetheral, in the interim between Tom Pynsent's departure and the lighting of the chamber-candles—"Mrs. Primrose has caught Mr. Thornhill, in despite of your alarms." This was whispered to reach Sir John's ear only.

Lady Ennismore had something very obliging to say, and whenever she spoke, her flattering compliments soothed the ear of her object—she only framed sentences of compliment.

"My dear Miss Wetheral, a certain gentleman's gallant and unequivocal admiration of a nameless beauty, proves his excellent discriminating powers. I admire the lover, and approve his suit. I wish I had a daughter who was fortunate enough to attract Mr. Pynsent."

Anna Maria did not love Lady Ennismore; she even shrank from her address in general; yet her expressed approval of Tom Pynsent at once gained belief, and gave pleasure to her heart. On all sides, congratulations awaited her. Her father added his approval, and it was given with feeling and earnestness. Before all the assembled family-party, he told her he had no fears for her welfare, as the wife of an honest, high-principled man. He could congratulate her upon an engagement which must bring happiness to a woman who valued the texture of a heart such as Pynsent possessed. His wealth might surround her person with luxuries, but his good qualities alone could secure her peace of mind. He trusted Anna Maria would appreciate and hold fast the affections of her future husband, and her lot would fall upon good ground. Pynsent was a man to whom he could intrust a daughter's happiness, and have no fears for her futurity.

Anna Maria's spirits were subdued under her father's earnest observations; her happiness, the suddenness of the event, and her future prospects, combined with the congratulations of her family, overpowered a mind which had long borne the alternations of hope, suspense, and fear. She sought refuge in her own room; Lady Wetheral and Julia followed; the one to offer soothing remedies, and to rejoice with her sister in the termination of her sorrow; the other to triumph in the success of her scheme: her ladyship's delight was boundless. To marry two daughters in one day to the first matches in Shropshire and Staffordshire, seemed an affair beyond common calculation: the lottery of life rarely threw two prizes consecutively into a family; and certainly her own generalship had secured both. In the exuberance of her spirits, she confessed to the sisters the ruse she had practised to elicit an offer from Tom Pynsent. Anna Maria was distressed.

"Oh, mamma, how could you take such a method; practising upon Tom's fears to hasten a declaration! How you frighten me; I might have lost him!"

"Poor Greenhorn! no, you had no chance of losing him; he was too much in love. I only prepared the way for him, to hasten the catastrophe. I particularly wished him to propose, because my mind is bent upon the double wedding, therefore I applied the goad very gently, but he answered the whip. The instant I mentioned your rides being discontinued, I saw the thing was done. My only hope now is, that Clara may succeed as you have done. There will be some difficulty in obtaining Mrs. Pynsent's consent perhaps, but I do not doubt a little management may succeed there too. Mrs. Pynsent is violent, but seldom firm; she will chafe and use very strong language, but she will be busy and delighted at your wedding, my love."

"But why do you consider Mrs. Pynsent objects, mamma?" asked Anna Maria, in alarm.

"Oh, she has some stupid notion that I have laid plans for her son, I fancy. Now, to suppose that I hunt for sons-in-law is absolute absurdity. I wish my children to marry well, I confess, but no one detests fortune-hunting more than I do. I consider a manœuvring mother a nuisance in society, and, therefore, Mrs. Pynsent's notion is ridiculous—too ridiculous even to confute. I shall get your father to make an intimate acquaintance with Sir Foster Kerrison, Julia. He is a widower, but his eleven children would not interfere with Clara's comforts: some may die, and the others might be sent to school. I don't believe a word about his kicking his servants; if scandalous reports were believed, very few of us could escape infamy. Servants are vile creatures, and would destroy any character. Sir Foster is a very fine man, and not to be rejected because he may occasionally lose his temper. There are many provocations in life, which now and then cause a man's temper to ferment a little, but what would that signify to Clara? Tom Pynsent uses a few, perhaps, unnecessary oaths, but he means nothing; his temper is excellent: Sir Foster probably means no more. I shall ask his eldest daughter to Wetheral, when you are all gone; indeed, I shall require amusement; my spirits will be depressed enough when that melancholy day arrives, my dear girls."

Lady Wetheral's voice fell, and a deep sigh succeeded: she soon resumed, more gaily—

"I shall consider that day a proud and happy one, which allows me to give you to two of the best of men, after all, my loves. It will be my glory to see you united to men standing high in situation, excellent in conduct, possessing the means of showering luxuries upon you, and placing you at the head of magnificent establishments. Should Clara form an equally wealthy connexion, I should die in peace; but I can only consider Sir Foster Kerrison worthy to be related to you. If he has eleven children, he has immense estates in three counties, and I must manage to get Miss Kerrison to Wetheral. I should fear nothing, if Clara would only keep her temper; but I dread the daughter carrying tales back to Ripley: however, I will manage as well as I can, for something must be effected on my side. Good night, my dear girls; I hope you will have sons, and no daughters, for you cannot know a mother's anxiety about daughters—they depend so entirely upon forming proper establishments. Your poor father would never have interested himself about you. I do believe he would be perfectly satisfied if he considered you destined to live hereafter as spinsters, huddled together in a lodging in Shrewsbury. Be well, Anna Maria; and, in future, you know I have no business to interfere with your rides and drives."

Her ladyship quitted the room, smiling complacently at the remembrance of her successful ruse; and the sisters were left together, to rejoice in and compare their happy prospects.

Lady Wetheral's idea of Mrs. Pynsent's objection, and her short-lived but violent wrath, was exemplified in her conduct, when her son stated his engagement to Miss Wetheral, before his parents, the morning subsequent to his proposal.

"Now hang me, Tom, if I would have believed such a thing from any body's lips but your own. So you have taken a bird out of the Wetheral nest, have you? You have been hunted down, neatly, Master Tom."

"In this particular," replied her son, "I have made my own choice, and my father made no objection when—"

"Who minds your father?" interrupted Mrs. Pynsent; "he never knows what he is about. He says 'yes' to every thing, and looks like a booby besides. Now you may marry the girl, and take Hatton if you please, but I'll be hanged if I notice her! I'm serious, Master Tom."

Tom Pynsent allowed the storm to spend its fury, and Mrs. Pynsent proceeded with increased ire.

"To be gulled into marriage by that woman, Wetheral, drives me wild; but I never saw the man yet, who was not tricked into a trap by an artful woman, in spite of his teeth. Hang the whole set of them, and you too, for being a greater simpleton than your father!"

"If I was a simpleton," observed Mr. Pynsent, quietly, "it was in marrying a masculine lady."

"You be hanged, Bobby! you proposed to every girl you met. I was your fiftieth love, and you knew Sally Hancock and myself loved things out of the common way. I tell you what, Bobby—if Tom marries a Wetheral, you and I leave Shropshire. I won't stay in the country. If I meet her, I'll drive over her, Tom."

Tom Pynsent understood his mother's disposition, and acted accordingly. He assured her of his sorrow in perceiving her dislike to the match; but, whatever disgust she might feel towards Lady Wetheral's conduct, the daughter was not involved in its folly. "When," continued he, "I proposed to Julia Wetheral, she refused me at once."

"You proposed to another of them!" cried Mrs. Pynsent, "and Bill Wycherly was right! You got huffed by one Wetheral, and then turned to another! Is this a true bill? Then I only just ask you, if simpleton is not too gentle an expression, Master Tommy, for such a poor thing as yourself? I only just ask you, if you don't think you are as nice an owl as ever was taken in by a set of manœuvring women? You'll hear enough of this, Tommy Pynsent! You and my Lord Ennismore are a couple of tight boys to be gulled by my lady. Here, make way for me—that I may go and tell my sister Hancock what a nice lad Master Pynsent has turned out. Never expect me to go near Wetheral, Bobby. I would sooner visit old Nick."

Mrs. Pynsent flung out of the room, with an air of offended majesty.

"Let your mother alone, Tom," said Mr. Pynsent, as the door closed upon his indignant lady. "Let her alone, and she won't long refuse her consent. When she has unburthened her mind to Sally Hancock, and fizzed a little, all will be right again."

Mrs. Pynsent ordered her pony-carriage, and drove off to Lea Cottage, where her widowed sister resided upon a very small income. Mrs. Hancock was darning stockings, when her sister appeared before her with inflamed features.

"Hollo, Pen, what's the matter now?" cried Mrs. Hancock, calmly continuing her darn.—"What's in the wind, now, Pen?"

"I am in a pretty mess, Sally Hancock; what do you think Tom is about to do?"

"Is he going to marry our niece, Wycherly? Don't let him marry a cousin, Pen; bless you, don't let him marry a cousin."

"Marry a cousin, Sally! I wish it was no worse than marrying young Pen. He is going to bring me one of Lady Wetheral's dolls, and I have vowed not to see or speak to her."

"Hoot toot, you will think better of it," replied Mrs. Hancock, passing a stocking to her sister. "Do mend that for me—there's a hole in the heel, as big as my thumb. What's the matter with the Wetherals, Pen? They are very fine girls, and very well born."

"It is not that," returned Mrs. Pynsent, threading a needle, and taking up the proffered stocking. "If you knew the pains my lady took to hunt down Tom, you would bless yourself, Sally Hancock."

"Never mind, Pen. Didn't our mother do just the same by us? Didn't I marry Hancock, in spite of every thing people could say?—and didn't you declare you would have Bob Pynsent, though he was engaged to Patty Durham?"

"Sally Hancock, do you remember the Shrewsbury races?" cried Mrs. Pynsent, overpowered with laughing at some bygone recollections.

"When we dressed up to frighten Hancock and Pynsent? ay, don't I?" exclaimed her sister, equally amused. "Do you remember Hancock's face, when you told him his fortune?"

"And do you remember Pynsent saying—"

Mrs. Pynsent could no more. A thousand images of the past crowded before her vision, and both ladies laughed immoderately at certain remembrances conjured up by Mrs. Hancock, reverting to youthful indiscretions. Mrs. Pynsent's anger towards her son already waned, as she dwelt upon topics so consonant to her feelings, with her sister. The tête-à-tête lasted a considerable time, and the peals of laughter continued, till the completion of the stocking gave warning it was time to part. Mrs. Pynsent prepared to move with reluctance.

"Can't you stay now you are here?" said Mrs. Hancock.

"Don't ask me, Sally Hancock. I must get back to Hatton. If you and Hancock had not spent your property in eating and drinking, you would not have been shut up here with that dreadful foot, which must be your death."

Mrs. Hancock exhibited her swelled foot.—"Yes, that's a neat article, Pen. I wish I could have it sawed off by the carpenter. Can't help it."

"Well, Sally Hancock, if Tom marries, you must come to the wedding;" remarked Mrs. Pynsent, in a doleful voice.

"My dear, how can I come with this foot? A pretty trinket, isn't it, to present before a bride?—There's a neat foot to trip among the bridesmaids to the altar!—I'm only fit for Lea, Pen, but you can tell me all about it."

Mrs. Pynsent drew up her face and eyes into a comic expression of astonishment, as she contemplated her sister's foot, veiled from the public gaze in the recess of a large list shoe.

"Well, Sally Hancock, you gave a good price for it. There's a hundred thousand pounds' worth in that hovel of a shoe. Every farthing melted into your stomachs. It was sure to tell upon you, some day."

"We can't eat our cake and have it," observed the jolly Mrs. Hancock; "but it wasn't all spent in eating and drinking. Hancock and myself lost more than half at play. It didn't all go in eating and drinking, Pen. Poor Hancock was very violent when I was unlucky, but he thought nothing about his own losses."

"You would have him, Sally Hancock."

"Well, I was as resolute as yourself in the matter of Bob Pynsent, Pen; but all the Wycherlys were a rum set—must, and would have their own way. Give Tom credit for a slice of the family disorder, and pocket the affront."

"How my lady will hector, and compliment, and courtesy!" shuddered Mrs. Pynsent.

"Never mind my lady! When is it to take place?"

"Oh, I don't know; I was in such a fury, I asked no questions."

"Tell Tom I will congratulate him, if he will come and see me." Mrs. Hancock winked her eye.

"Tom never will come near you till you leave off your broad jokes, Sally Hancock. I wish you would not offend people in that way. I can't ask you among ladies and gentlemen."

"Lord, Pen, how can I leave off old habits at my time of life?" Mrs. Hancock put her finger to her eye and looked innocent.

"Then Bobby and Tom will never visit you, or allow me to ask you to Hatton for more than one day. That's all you get by old habits, Sally Hancock."

"Tom is mighty nice; I wouldn't give a farthing for such a nephew."

"I'll trouble you not to abuse Tom, Sally Hancock," cried her sister, who was touched on a most sensitive point by this remark. "Tom is always right, and his mother will always uphold him. You must have a very genteel dialect, when two gentlemen cannot sit in your society comfortably."

"When shall I see you again? don't be scolding, Pen; I'm not used to scolding, now poor Hancock is gone."

"I'll come to Lea, as soon as Tom's affairs are settled, but never call Tom names before me, Sally Hancock; you know I cannot bear it. Tom shall marry too if he pleases, and no one shall offer an opinion against the match before me."

"Nor before me either," cried Mrs. Hancock.

"Before you! who ever comes before you, except myself?" asked Mrs. Pynsent, stopping short, as they were advancing towards the door, at which the pony-carriage was drawn up.

"Oh! Tomkins, the exciseman, comes for a bit of chat, and the old Ripley housekeeper has retired here, so I often hear the news. This is a very cheerful place."

"Don't frighten away the exciseman, Sally Hancock."

"Never fear, Pen; the exciseman is not made of such dainty materials as my nephew."

So ended the interview between the sisters; and Mrs. Pynsent returned to Hatton, resolved internally to support her son's wishes, and to offend any person who presumed to reflect upon his taking a "Wetheral."