Neither, however, ventured to give the least hint to the other as to the nature of their morning’s reflections; and it was only when Mr. Sandboys sat in front of the looking-glass, rubbing the lather over his chin previously to shaving, till he looked like a twelfth-cake, that he communicated to his darling Aggy, while she was in the act of hunting after the grey hairs among her front curls, his doubts as to the propriety of their quitting London for Buttermere that evening. After he had exhausted the arguments in favour of the children—to all of which Mrs. Sandboys, as she poked the top part of her head close against the looking-glass over the mantelpiece, the better to find the stray silver threads she was searching for, gave her most cordial assent—the Cumberland gentleman touched upon the point which constituted, as it were, the fulcrum upon which his moral lever turned, and confessed that he did not like to be beaten in the object he had undertaken. If they had tried to gain admittance to the Exhibition only once, he urged, and had been prevented by some unforeseen accident, it would not have mattered so much, and they might have returned then with even a good grace; but now that they had made so many attempts, and failed so repeatedly, they would naturally look ridiculous in every person’s eyes, provided they left London without succeeding in their purpose, after all the pains they had taken, and the sufferings they had endured to accomplish it. Of course, all the neighbours would say, “Well, hang it! I wud ha’seen t’ pleace, if I’d died for it!” and only laugh at them for their weakness. Aggy, who seemed to have excellent sport that morning, and kept twitching out the grey hairs like a Thames angler does gudgeons, fully concurred with all the sapient Cursty uttered, and expressed her approbation with each fresh jerk, though with greater warmth, perhaps, than she otherwise might have done, owing to the sharp twinge which accompanied the delicate operation in which she was engaged.