CHAPTER IX.

Miss Wycherly began to lose all hope of recovering her position in Mr. Spottiswoode's heart, unless she could prevail upon herself to make the amende honorable; and to that wretched alternative her mind would not bend. Rather would she endure the horrible idea of losing him; rather would she suffer the pangs of jealousy to distract her heart, than "bow down" before him she had offended, or say one word which could lead him to suppose she retracted her offensive coquetry. For some days her spirit chafed in solitude and in silence, and Julia received the following note, a week subsequent to their meeting at Hatton.

    "For Heaven's sake, Julia, come to me for one hour, and leave Lord Ennismore behind! Don't bring him to Lidham, for I hate the sight and sound of lovers; come alone, and listen to the woes of poor

    "Penelope Wycherly."

[231]

Julia attended her summons, but Lord Ennismore did not remain behind; he attended his mother and his intended bride in the carriage, and Lady Ennismore deposited Julia at Lidham, promising to call for her on their return from Shrewsbury. Julia found her friend pale and ill with watching and fretting; Miss Wycherly received her with open arms.

"Oh, Julia, if you knew what I have suffered since we met last, you would pity me! I am so glad you are come to me without your overseers!"

"Who are my overseers?" asked Julia, laughing at the term.

"You know I must mean the Ennismores, Julia: you are never to be seen without mother and son. Sit down, my dear, and hear my complaint."

Miss Wycherly gave Julia an exact and long statement of all that had taken place since they had met at Hatton, and her voice became agitated as she dwelt upon Mr. Spottiswoode's silence during the drive, and his apparent determination not to give her an opportunity to express her feelings. "This, Julia, was the most cruel part of his conduct," she continued. "How can a woman advocate her cause, when [232] a man is resolved to be silent? I may have acted wrong in the beginning, but the blame rests with him now. I have only to be wretched all my life, and shut myself up at Lidham."

Tears rushed to her eyes, but she struggled to subdue all appearance of emotion. Julia was preparing to speak, but a wave of the hand deterred her.

"Let me say all I have to say, Julia, and then applaud or blame me as you please. If I was foolish to show caprice and folly at that critical moment, Spottiswoode has exhibited cruelty and ill-temper ever since. He knew I meant to accept him some time or other, and he was needlessly hasty in acting so violently and promptly upon a nonsensical speech of mine. Suppose every man was to fly away at a woman's playfulness? I assure you, Julia, I was very ill when I came from Hatton; and yet the ill-natured creature has not inquired after me. I think you cannot uphold such a display of temper."

"I uphold Mr. Spottiswoode," replied Julia, "upon many points, and I cannot flatter you, Penelope, by saying you have done right in one particular."

"Julia!" exclaimed Miss Wycherly, "never [233] desert a friend in distress, or take a man's part against her!"

"I am giving you my opinion, Penelope, and Mr. Spottiswoode will never hear the substance of our conversation from myself. You have vexed and offended him; you have flirted very publicly with Henry Tyndal; and you have allowed Mr. Spottiswoode to imagine you have refused himself, after allowing his attentions for years—oh, Penelope, from your very childhood."

Miss Wycherly coloured, and her tears began to flow, but she made no reply. Her friend continued:—

"A woman may teaze a man who is comparatively a stranger to her, and she may believe herself making trial of his temper and affection; but Mr. Spottiswoode has been born and educated amongst us, and his attachment has been too well known to the neighbourhood, and to yourself, to doubt its truth. Do you doubt his affection, Penelope?"

Miss Wycherly shook her head, but she did not trust herself to speak.

"Then why treat him with levity, and throw him into Lady Anna Herbert's power?"

"Good heavens, Julia!" shrieked Miss Wycherly, as she started up from her seat, "do you [234] know that for a certainty? Is he positively thinking of Lady Anna; positively leaving me for ever? Oh! don't in mercy tell me so!"

"I do not think it, Penelope, because I know he has loved you too long to care for another; but you have been very unkind, and it has broken the bond of esteem between you. Take care how you draw the reins too tightly, and lose him past all recovery."

"Oh, if you are my friend, Julia," cried Miss Wycherly, kneeling before her in agony—"if you have any love for your playfellow in youth, and your friend since we grew up together, act for me in this strait, and return me Spottiswoode's love."

"Then dismiss Henry Tyndal from your constant society, Penelope."

"Too happy to do so, Julia!"

"Let Mr. Spottiswoode see by your conduct and manners, that you regret having pained him, Penelope."

"Alas! he will never give me an opportunity, Julia."

"Then make one, Penelope. If you love him as truly as you say you do, he is worth the sacrifice of an ill-judged pride. You have [235] offended him; express your regrets courageously, and recover his esteem."

"I should die before the words could be spoken, Julia," said her friend, rising from her attitude of humility, and reseating herself.—"I should die while I was confessing my sorrow. Don't ask me to acknowledge error; it would be a bitter task, and I never can sue for a husband—no, that I never, never can do."

"My dear Penelope...."

"Think of any other way, Julia, but not that dreadfully degrading task of imploring pardon—of bowing down before an offended lover! I should never again be able to assert my power!"

"We see things very differently, Penelope. Remember the extremely keen feelings of Mr. Spottiswoode, and the pain he has suffered in your flirtation with Henry Tyndal!"

"He has brought it upon himself."

"And you are content to resign Mr. Spottiswoode for the indulgence of false pride, Penelope—to lose the affection of a kind, constant lover, because you cannot condescend to say you were wrong! Then Lady Anna will be a happy woman if she can succeed you."

"You drive me wild with naming Lady Anna!" cried Miss Wycherly. "No one shall [236] succeed me in Charles Spottiswoode's heart, or I'll not stay at Lidham to see it. I believe I am proud, Julia, too proud for my peace of mind, but I shall never conquer it; it will drive me to my grave."

"Struggle against such an ignoble passion, Penelope."

Mr. Wycherly's voice resounded through the hall, calling for his daughter. "I say Pen!—here! halloo, Pen!"

"I cannot meet him with these red eyes," hastily observed Miss Wycherly. "My dear dear Julia, do speak for me!"

Julia joined Mr. Wycherly in the hall, who politely apologised for his vociferation; he was not aware of her presence at Lidham; he was only calling on Pen, to order some bread and cheese for Spottiswoode, and one or two hungry dogs, who would not dismount; but the servants were gone for the refreshments, and he would not detain her, or tease Pen, who was any thing but well.

"If Mr. Spottiswoode is at the hall-door, I should like much to see him for a few moments," was Julia's observation.

"He is here, and Tyndal, father and son. I can't get any of them to dismount; when they [237] see you, Miss Julia, one or two may change their mind, and prefer eating in-doors. I'll tell Spottiswoode you are here; or if you take my arm and show yourself, the effect will be greater."

Julia accompanied Mr. Wycherly to the door, and, after a few general compliments had passed, she addressed herself particularly to Mr. Spottiswoode, in a low voice.

"Mr. Spottiswoode, I wish to speak with you; can you leave your party?"

"Certainly; I shall feel honoured by any command from you." Mr. Spottiswoode dismounted, and gave his horse to one of the Lidham grooms.

"There!" cried Mr. Wycherly. "I told you so, Miss Julia, I told you what would happen, didn't I? Tyndal is good for nothing, but his son will follow the lead."

It was Mr. John Tyndal who accompanied his father, and they were not able to accept the tempting invitation—"they would just take a hurried snack upon their horses, and proceed; would Wycherly join them?"

"And leave Spottiswoode to the ladies' care?"

"To be sure; Spottiswoode was a lady's man, and they were always petted animals."

"Well, Miss Julia," said Mr. Wycherly, "I [238] give Spottiswoode into your hands, and you are responsible for consequences. Pen and you will entertain him as long as he behaves well."

Julia promised to be his guardian angel, and she proceeded with Mr. Spottiswoode to the sitting-room, where Miss Wycherly was lying extended upon the sofa, thoughtful and hopeless of ever seeing happy days again, if they were to be purchased by her own submission. She rose slowly as the door opened.

"What a time you have been flirting with papa, Julia!" she exclaimed, reproachfully. At that moment she perceived Mr. Spottiswoode, and a cry of surprise burst from her lips, but she did not advance to receive him. Mr. Spottiswoode stood near the door, and, resenting the coldness of his reception, he spoke only to Julia.

"Miss Wetheral, you wished to speak with me; may I beg the favour of your communication?"

"It is comprised in few words, Mr. Spottiswoode. My friend Penelope is distressed and grieved at having given you unprovoked offence, and she pines to recover your esteem."

"No—no—it is not true!" shrieked Miss Wycherly, hiding her face among the sofa pillows.

[239]

"Mr. Spottiswoode," continued Julia, "you are both unhappy, and this misunderstanding will never end without the assistance of a mutual friend. I now tell you, Penelope regrets her error, but fears to lessen herself in your opinion, by doing justice to herself and you. She is miserable at having quarrelled, and why should you not know it, and be friends?"

"By my soul, Penelope, I forgive the pain you have caused me," said Mr. Spottiswoode, approaching her, "if I may indeed believe you repent your unkind treatment."

Miss Wycherly shrunk from his touch as her lover offered to take her hand.

"I do not repent—I regret nothing—oh, Julia! was this kind to betray me! I will never believe you could love me, and yet have done this!" She rose to fly from the room, but Mr. Spottiswoode's arm, gently wound round her waist, arrested her flight.

"Stay, Penelope, and tell me why you avoid a man who loves you, and has borne what I have done for you? Tell me why you fear to say a kind thing, when it may balance a thousand harsh ones? Why must you distress a heart which never gave you uneasiness?"

"You have made me uneasy enough with [240] your attention to Lady Anna," replied Miss Wycherly, earnestly, yet not attempting to disengage herself.

"Do you seriously mean that, Penelope?" said Mr. Spottiswoode, looking inquiringly into her face.

"Yes, I do: your flirtation there was worse than mine with Henry Tyndal; every body knew he was not cared for, but you were abominable."

"Look me in the face, Penelope, and say that again if you dare."

Miss Wycherly did not repeat the accusation: how could she? Her lover held her to his heart, and every disquieting thought was stilled. She turned to Julia, and held out her hand.

"Julia, I will never forget that you brought about this reconciliation. I was too proud to own myself in fault, and had you not interfered, we should never have met again in harmony. I was agonised at first with anger, but it is past now; and, for Heaven's sake, don't let us quarrel again, Charles Spottiswoode!"

"Then you will have me without another interview with Captain Jekyl, Penelope?"

"Don't remember all that nonsense."

[241]

"I will not. Miss Wetheral, I am deeply obliged to you for your spirited and friendly conduct to us both. Had it not been for your intervention, I should not have entered Lidham again. Our mutual obligations, Penelope, are great to this excellent friend."

"When Julia wants a home or a friend, she will remember Lidham, Charles."

"Thank you," said Julia, smiling; "should such a time ever arrive, I will appear before you, to seek my home of rest."

Lady Ennismore's carriage was announced, and Julia rose to depart. "I have done an action which will always give me pleasure to contemplate," she said, as she shook hands with the reconciled pair. "I have linked the chain round my two friends, and it shall not break again. Penelope, I bespeak you upon a certain occasion; you must follow me to the altar when my hour comes."

"I will follow you to the death, my dear," replied her friend, "to the altar, to wealth, to misery, or the grave."

"Nay, only to the altar, Penelope; I will give you due notice."

Mr. Spottiswoode led her to the carriage, and repeated his acknowledgments. Lord Ennismore [242] received her, and Julia left Lidham again, in company with those whom Miss Wycherly termed her overseers.

Wetheral Castle was now the scene of considerable bustle and gaiety. Lady Wetheral was destined, apparently, to succeed in every wish of her heart, for she had arranged and contrived to execute her plan of marrying both daughters on the same day. The Boscawens were invited to attend their nuptials; and Lady Ennismore, Mrs. Pynsent, and Lady Wetheral, united in wishing the day to be an early one. Lady Ennismore spoke in terms of elegant compliment, and expressed her maternal anxiety to see her son happily settled ere she retired to her seat in Lincolnshire; but Mrs. Pynsent did not attempt to press flowers of eloquence into her oratory.

"Here, let's have no dawdling, but let Tom get married; what's the use of kicking our heels here doing nothing? I'm for setting smartly to work, and naming a day. Come, this day three weeks I'll say, and Tom will back me."

Lady Wetheral saw every thing could safely be left to Mrs. Pynsent's care, as far as the time was concerned; she, therefore, gave her attention to ornamental attire, and complimented [243] Mrs. Pynsent by placing the day at her disposal. Mrs. Pynsent decided at once.

"Well then, I say this day three weeks, and no putting off."

From that hour, all was movement and consultation: Lady Ennismore and her son returned to Bedinfield to prepare for the bride's reception, and they were to reappear at Wetheral the week of the nuptials. Every body was to be congregated at Wetheral on the Monday preceding the ceremony, but the Boscawens were to spend a fortnight there, as Isabel would enjoy the sight of bridal finery.

Lady Wetheral received Isabel with all the honours due to her position in society. Anna Maria and Julia's future exaltation must place them beyond Isabel in pomp and circumstance; but still Mrs. Boscawen held a decided station, and she was mistress of Brierly. Mrs. Boscawen was therefore received at Wetheral with much ceremony and polite welcome. Isabel, however, returned to her early home a changed being: the light-hearted girl who had quitted Wetheral scarcely a twelvemonth, in smiles and joyous anticipations, returned a matron in appearance, grave and subdued in manner, and apparently frightened into stillness by her husband's stern [244] observation. She was no longer the sprightly, happy, madcap Isabel Wetheral; her laugh had fled, and even the smiles which used to pass in rapid succession over her bright face, stole now upon her lips slow and seldom. Her mother complimented Isabel upon the change so rapid and so complete.

"I am never weary admiring you, my dear Mrs. Boscawen; and I little imagined my romping daughter would be so soon transferred into an elegant, quiet matron. Your manners are quite perfect, my love."

A placid smile curled the lip of Isabel at this compliment.

"I am very quiet now, I believe; Mr. Boscawen dislikes laughing."

"It is not an accomplishment," said Lady Wetheral; "every common creature can laugh. I believe the loudest laughter is considered the pleasantest person among the commonality. I detest a laugher."

"I enjoyed laughing extremely," replied Isabel, with a sigh. "I should like to laugh again, but there is nothing laughable at Brierly. Mr. Boscawen does not like young people staying in the house, and I have mixed entirely among old people since I married."

[245]

"Your situation, my love! Mr. Boscawen is anxious to keep you quiet, I dare say."

"I should prefer having a friend or two with me to enliven Brierly," returned Isabel, gravely. "Mr. Boscawen liked to see me merry before we married, but now he says it is wrong. I think my sisters are foolish to marry. Anna Maria, you had better remain single, for Mr. Boscawen says young married women should not appear lively and ready to chat with gentlemen, and you know we chatted away here."

"Mr. Boscawen is elderly, my love; elderly gentlemen are very particular," observed Lady Wetheral, soothingly.

"Old or young, they are much the same, I believe; my jokes amused Mr. Boscawen extremely till I married. Papa always liked to see me happy, too; Mr. Boscawen's sister, Tabitha, reads such lectures if I laugh! I don't like her at all."

"I think you look extremely handsome and well, Mrs. Boscawen. Matrimony has improved you—confinement in two months time, you say? I wish I could offer you my assistance, my love; but you know what a poor nervous creature I am."

"Mr. Boscawen says I am only to have his sister Tabitha with me."

"An excellent arrangement, my love. Miss [246] Tabitha will not have the anxiety which would make me worse than useless. I dare say she is a steady sort of person."

"I don't like her at all, mamma; I would rather have you at Brierly."

"Me, my love! Oh, no! I am too nervous, not half so fitted for the department of nurse as good Miss Tabitha. Those old maids, you know, are calm and useful in their ignorance. I should be nervous, and make you so; Boscawen has arranged very prudently."

Isabel privately confessed to her sisters that if she had only suspected what her matrimony was to end in, nothing should have induced her to marry. That beautiful cloak with the leopard's claw had been of no use; not once had she occasion to wear it. Boscawen made her read history for some hours every day, which she forgot as soon as she closed the books; then Boscawen worried her with lessons of geography, and expected her to understand accounts, and comprehend housekeeping—a thing she detested; perhaps when she became a mother, she might have more power, but at present she was neither more nor less than a girl at school.

Isabel took great notice of Christobelle; and while her elder sisters were absorbed in preparation for their approaching nuptials, she was [247] her companion at all hours; and she loved to have her youngest sister constantly at her side. Mr. Boscawen freely indulged his lady in her love for Christobelle's society, and expressed himself pleased by her selection.

"I can have no objection, Isabel, to your youngest sister being with you, and if you can obtain your father's consent, you can take her to Brierly. I like her turn for reading; you can read together. I do not wish you to be mixed up with the foolish preparations going on among your sisters and mother—jewels and dresses, all nonsense. I wish you to attend particularly to history, that you may not be wanting in necessary information; and I expect your mornings will be devoted to study, as usual. Your youngest sister can be with you, and your studies may proceed together."

"I thought this fortnight was to be a holiday, Mr. Boscawen," said Isabel, mournfully.

"My dear Isabel, you have much to make up, and at your age much is acquired. I was distressed at hearing you assert to my sister a short time since, that you could reach France by land."

"Well, Mr. Boscawen, I did not know to the contrary."

"But you ought to know, my dear Isabel; [248] an ignorant woman at the head of a man's table is terrible. I am continually watching to repair your blunders."

"I made no blunders before I married, Mr. Boscawen."

Mr. Boscawen gave a grim smile at Isabel's assertion, and patted her shoulder with kind feeling.

"Yes, you did, and those blunders amused me; but, my dear Isabel, a lover is charmed with faults and blunders, which make a husband miserable, so read and improve yourself in knowledge. Chrystal is the best companion for you at Wetheral." In consequence of Mr. Boscawen's wish, Isabel and Christobelle studied together, and the child of ten years of age was even better acquainted with the elements of knowledge than the woman of eighteen. Isabel had an insuperable objection to study of any kind, and when Mr. Boscawen left the sisters together for an hour, Isabel quitted her dull history to seize upon Christobelle's little collection of story-books, or else she vented her disappointed feelings in warning her never to marry at all, but particularly an old man. It was all vanity and vexation of spirit; she had never seen company at Brierly; and Mr. Boscawen determined to receive [249] none till she could conduct her own establishment; that time would never arrive, for she never could order any thing but mutton-chops and mashed potatoes. And Miss Tabitha scolded and lectured in vain. However, Mr. Boscawen said she might have Christobelle with her, and that was a blessing; for when she came, she might get out a little more.

Such was Isabel's course of life, after marrying precisely to have uncontrolled liberty, to ride all day in the gig, and fill Brierly as full as it could hold.

Tom Pynsent was very indignant at Isabel's mode of life. "What the devil did a man marry for, if a wife was only to be turned into a daughter? and what was a woman the better for having her head crammed with knowledge. For his part, he hoped Anna Maria could not tell great A from a bull's foot, and she would get no teaching at Hatton."

Mr. Boscawen persevered in his system, and only smiled grimly at the observations which were showered in his presence. No sort of excuse, no little morning gaiety, was allowed to prevail with him in liberating his wife from her course of study. Till four in the afternoon, Isabel was toiling at the arts and sciences; and [250] at that hour her husband took her an airing in the carriage which had so delighted her sight on her wedding-day:—she called it now her prison-house.

Mr. Boscawen's system of education, however unpalatable it proved to Isabel's taste, was one of gentleness, and of great importance to her mind. He was never harsh in his observations, and he bore with great patience his young wife's disinclination to improve her resources. Nothing could be more agreeably explained than Mr. Boscawen's views upon every subject. He imparted instruction so mildly, and varied his course of studies so insinuatingly, that the mornings flew past in really instructive yet pleasing pursuits.

At Christobelle's young age, she delighted in Mr. Boscawen's gentle administration, and no one ever before had power to withdraw her from her father's study. During Isabel's visit, Christobelle lived in her dressing-room; and when Mr. Boscawen walked out, Christobelle hovered round him, and listened to his kindly-expressed sentiments upon every trifle which she offered to his notice. Mr. Boscawen possessed but two failings; he had a most repulsive expression of countenance; and he married a young, laughing [251] girl, hardly out of the nursery, who could not appreciate his extensive knowledge, and who could never prove the companion his intellectual taste coveted. Caught by the vivacity and beauty of a sprightly girl, he had vainly promised himself pleasure in superintending her education, and in leading her talents towards the stores which learning could bestow: mortification was the result of his anxiety.

Mr. Boscawen was not the first wise man who fell in love, and fancied he could make a young creature happy, by endeavouring to raise her capacity to his own level. Many have tried the experiment and failed, because they would not believe the sparkling eye could emanate from gay spirits unconnected with scope of intellect, and because they expected that age and gravity could assimilate with youthful feelings and youthful views. Isabel was not adapted to the sameness of her life at Brierly: had she married a man more suited to her time of life, her joyous spirit would have met the cares of this world with light-heartedness and in smiles; but the awful countenance of her husband ever resting upon her—his perpetual anxiety respecting her manners—his remarks, so gentle yet so sternly spoken—all [252] pressed upon her mind, and weighed down her spirits.

Whenever Isabel spoke, her eye rested with alarm upon Mr. Boscawen; and it was evident she had been tutored into some degree of caution, by the unwearied lectures of Miss Tabitha Boscawen, upon the necessity of married ladies thinking before they spoke upon any subject. Lady Wetheral was enthusiastic in her praise of Isabel's improved appearance and manner, but her sisters and Miss Wycherly mourned over the change which had taken place. Miss Wycherly spoke openly her opinion.

"I declare, and I always did declare, it was a sinful act to give Isabel to that lanky, dark, awful Mr. Boscawen. The poor thing was not able to judge for herself, and she fancied every elderly man was like her father. I think such very unnatural matches should be prevented by act of parliament."

Isabel one morning stole away from her heavy volume of Rapin, to look over the wardrobe of the two brides, which had arrived from town, and were hung in magnificent array in their apartments. Miss Wycherly and Miss Spottiswoode were also sitting in judgment upon their beauty of make and material, and the whole [253] female population of Wetheral were admitted to admire and wonder over the costly arrangement. Isabel's eyes sparkled at the sight, and, with true girlish delight, she examined and applauded each article as it attracted her notice.

"Oh, Julia, this satin is yours, I am sure! Yes, that is Lady Ennismore at a first glance; how very beautiful! Ah, Julia! I hope you will wear it oftener than I have worn my pretty blue silk: I shall wear it on your wedding-day, and that will be only the second time of its appearance upon any stage. I dare say it will look old-fashioned now compared to yours. One small flounce, you see—how pretty! my blue silk has no flounce." She passed on to the case which contained the jewels presented to Julia by Lady Ennismore.

"Well, Julia, this is a sight! how very sparkling and brilliant! I wonder how often you will wear them? Mr. Boscawen does not like me to wear the beautiful brooch papa gave me; he says it is attending to the outside of the platter instead of the inside, and then he said something in Greek or French, I don't know which; but my poor ornament was laid up in silver paper again. I hope Lord Ennismore will let you dress handsomely, Julia."

[254]

"I never cared much about dress, Isabel," said Julia; "if dear Augustus dislikes dress, I shall renounce it very willingly."

"Would you, indeed? Ah! but you are very fond of Lord Ennismore, and he likes every thing you do and say: so did Mr. Boscawen once. Oh, Anna Maria, this muslin dress, worked so divinely! One comfort is, Tom Pynsent will let you wear muslin and satin by day and by night, if you choose to do so. Lord Ennismore I know nothing about, but I do know my old partner Tom's good-nature. How I wish Mr. Boscawen was like Tom Pynsent! Mr. Boscawen is very kind, though: I am sure he never contradicts me in any thing, but he talks me into his measures, which is just the same thing. I never could argue; and if I did, Mr. Boscawen talks so many languages, I could never argue against them all. How I have been talking!—I could almost fancy myself unmarried. What was that?—a bell? I must run away, or Mr. Boscawen will find me a truant when he returns."

"See here, Isabel," exclaimed Miss Wycherly—"here is a poplin sweetly trimmed; don't run away!"

"My dear, I must; don't tempt me; I am [255] sure that was Mr. Boscawen's bell, to ask where I was. It is airing time, and I dare say my prison-house is at the door."

Away flew Isabel, in alarm, lest her husband should have perceived her flight from the dressing-room.

"Delightful specimen of matrimony!" observed Miss Spottiswoode.

"It is not a comfortable view of the state," replied Miss Wycherly; "but Isabel and Mr. Boscawen were never intended to become man and wife. It has been one of those unaccountable proceedings which do sometimes occur, and which causes misery to two very excellent people. Either would have been happy in a different connexion: I think Isabel ought to have married John Tyndal."

"And why John Tyndal?" asked Miss Spottiswoode, hastily.

Miss Wycherly smiled. "Only, if it had so happened, Sophy, John Tyndal's good-nature would have given way to Isabel's tastes."

"He is the soul of good-nature and kindness," replied Miss Spottiswoode, "yet he might not have been happy with Isabel."

"Perhaps not, if he liked another lady better; but don't blush, Sophy. I have offended his [256] brother for ever; Henry Tyndal meets me now, and will not see me, or bow as we pass."

"Because you behaved very ill to him, and Charles too, Penelope."

"Well, now, Sophy, that is past and forgiven, so let us think of the girls' wedding-clothes, and all the bustle of this day week."

The ladies again proceeded to comment upon the beauty of the dresses, and all subjects gave way to the engrossing topic of dress and jewels.

Tom Pynsent was firmly decided not to accept his father's resignation of Hatton upon his marriage; and Sir John Wetheral upheld him in his resolution. Lady Wetheral lost all patience with such determinations.

"I am sure, Sir John, the Pynsents are anxious to leave Hatton, and relinquish the trouble of superintending such large property. How much happier old Mr. Pynsent will be in some quiet nook, enjoying himself, if you did not fancy such foolish schemes, and innoculate Tom with the disease! I wonder, my dear Mr. Boscawen, you do not urge Sir John to allow Mr. Pynsent his own way in this matter."

"Aparte mala cum est mulier, tum damum est bona," said Mr. Boscawen.

[257]

"You agree with me? Is that your meaning when translated?"

"I do not," replied Mr. Boscawen, mildly; "I give my judgment entirely in favour of Tom Pynsent."

"You have not given the subject your best consideration, my love," observed her husband.

"The thing requires no consideration, Sir John: you are traversing Mr. Pynsent in his wishes, and preparing severe pain for me. I always hoped and believed Anna Maria would be near me, and you are endeavouring to banish her the county. I confess I am ill prepared for this blow, Sir John Wetheral, and I hope I shall not be extremely ill from the shock."

Sir John endeavoured to explain away his lady's objections to the present arrangement; but her mind was totally overpowered by the reflection that Hatton must not yet shelter his daughter.

"I don't understand you, Sir John. Nothing can explain away my distress at perceiving you determined to expel my daughter from Hatton, and I can only appeal to Tom Pynsent from your harsh resolution. I shall implore him to let my daughter be near her mother."

Tom Pynsent's mind was composed of kindly [258] materials, but his perceptions of right were always clear, and his conduct did credit to those perceptions, by resisting, formidably and pertinaciously, every attempt to attract him from the path chalked out by his straightforward, well-judging principles. Lady Wetheral's eloquent and parental complainings roused his best feelings, but Tom Pynsent was at this moment, as he ever had been, perfectly blind to all hints and concealed purposes. He read her ladyship's meaning, simply as a parent mourning her separation from a loved and gentle daughter, and his excellent heart prompted every means of consolation.

"God bless my soul, Lady Wetheral, I feel quite a brute in taking Anna Maria out of the neighbourhood, while you suffer so much—I am sure I am willing to do any thing to lessen your regret! Anna Maria, my dear little duck, what shall we do for Lady Wetheral?"

"To be separated from two daughters at once," remarked Lady Wetheral, despairingly—"to lose two children at once is a serious misery. Julia must live in Staffordshire—she must, and, of course, ought, to settle upon her husband's property: but my dearest Anna Maria need not surely desert us!"

[259]

"I'll tell you what I'll decide upon at once," cried Tom Pynsent.

Her ladyship listened with intense eagerness.

"I'll decide at once, and accept my father's offer to live——"

Lady Wetheral seized Tom Pynsent's large red hand. "You have given peace to my heart, Tom, to a mother's deep disquietude—I understand you—my Anna Maria will live near me. You will be brilliant, as I anticipated, my dear girl!"

"I'll do what I never thought I could do," continued Tom Pynsent; "but I am sure I'll not separate you from your daughter, if you love her as well as I do. Come, then, I'll accept my father's offer of a large house in Dog Pole; and though I never lived in a town, I'll do it to quiet your heart, Lady Wetheral."

Her ladyship sunk into a chair—she could only articulate, faintly, "Oh—no, no!"

"Yes, but I will, though, Lady Wetheral. I'll remove the kennel to Coleham, and then I can hunt; I'll amuse myself on Sundays with shewing my wife the hounds, and I must patronise the poor devils of players in an evening, to amuse my little woman here. I will do [260] it, upon my soul: I'm not joking, Lady Wetheral."

"No, it cannot be—I see it is wrong—no, you shall not live in Shrewsbury to please me," said her ladyship, writhing in horror; "my daughter would become ill in a close atmosphere. You would become disgusted too. I see very clearly my mistake—no, that must not be. A little effort will shake off maternal regrets." Lady Wetheral trembled with the remembrance even of Tom Pynsent's offer. Her daughter living in Dog Pole, and going to the play like a mechanic's wife!—oh, let her die first! She was obliged to have recourse to her salts.

Anna Maria was surprised at the strong emotion which seized upon her mother. She offered consolation in her own way.

"But, mamma, if you are so distressed at our leaving you, I beseech you to postpone my marriage for a short time, till the remembrance of Julia has subsided. I cannot bear to see you suffer, mamma. Let my marriage be suspended a fortnight—I know Tom will accede for my sake, won't you, dear Tom?"

"I would rather live in Dog Pole than postpone my marriage," answered Tom Pynsent, sturdily.

[261]

"Neither, neither," said Lady Wetheral, rising; "I will not hear of any change. I am foolish in my fondness, but I must have fortitude, like other mothers. I must remember I have Clara and poor little Chrystal to comfort me. Decide upon your place of residence, and so it is not a town or a village, I shall be satisfied."

Lady Wetheral quitted the room in a state of mind most pitiable; she had been foiled in her wish to see Anna Maria placed immediately at the head of the Hatton establishment, and, this one wish disappointed, she felt as though every other gratified vision of grandeur sank into nothingness; one defeat obliterated a thousand victories; such is the nature of a mind unaccustomed to meet impediments in its rapid course.

"Tom!" said his fair fiancée, as the door closed upon them, "I am going to wish a wish."

"You wished a pretty wish, just now, you little rascal, didn't you?" answered her lover, throwing his arm round Anna Maria, and squeezing her till she exclaimed:—

"Oh, for Heaven's sake, Tom! your arm is like a steam-engine in full play!"

"I'm afraid I am rough," said Tom, anxiously rubbing the arm which had been pinioned [262] to her side by his embrace, "but I am an awkward dog by nature. Come, what is your wish, and you shall have it; but, no more putting off the wedding-day, mind."

"I should like, Tom, to go to Paris."

"By Jove!" ejaculated Tom Pynsent, in extremity of astonishment, "by all the saints and holy women, what are we to do at Paris, my darling girl?"

"Just to see Paris, my dear Tom, and pass a few weeks there."

"I think I see myself in Paris, d—n me!" cried her lover, excited something beyond his usual subdued language in Anna Maria's presence: "the Frenchmen will hoot me through the streets; why, we can't manage a sentence in French between us!"

"We can hire somebody to speak for us, dear Tom, and every one speaks French now, except ourselves. I want to see Paris, and Blucher, and, what can it signify, whether we speak English or French?"

"How shall we eat their infernal frogs and garlic, Anna Maria?" asked Tom Pynsent, with a shudder, "and, what shall we do in a great city, without knowing their jargon? My dear girl, we shall be like the babes in the wood!"

[263]

"No, no, Tom, we shall get on like other people, and Sir John Spottiswoode delights in Paris; he wishes his mother and sister to join him, Penelope says. We shall find him out; and, then if you dislike Paris, we can return home, you know."

"I never was at sea in my life, Anna Maria; I never was even upon the Severn. Deuce take it, I shall be like the hounds at fault, and you, my poor girl, will want to get back to Shropshire."

"No, I shall not," said Miss Wetheral; "say, Tom, you will take me to Paris!"

"I'll take you to the world's end, my darling, if you fancy it; how is this little arm? I'm not fit to take charge of a creature like you, with my rough ways, but you shall have all your little whims gratified."

Thus, then, was a visit to Paris decided upon; and Tom Pynsent renouncing his country, and truly English tastes, gave way at once to Anna Maria's wishes, and commenced preparations for a foreign expedition. Certainly no character possessed more real kindness, than the unselfish and affectionate Tom Pynsent, for, of all men upon earth, he was the least calculated, in taste and habits, to relish even a temporary banishment from his native land.