I felt, however, that her visit to me, and the terms which we had been upon, made it indispensable for me to give her a wedding gift, and I sent her money instead of a present in consideration of her poverty, desiring her to buy what she wanted most in remembrance of me. My letter and its contents, much to the annoyance of us both, she answered in person, bringing her husband with her; and they came with so evident an intention of staying all night, spite of the coldness of their reception, that we were forced to offer them a bed. The next day, however, even their assurance was not proof against the repelling power of our cold civility, and they departed, neither of us prejudiced in favour of the husband, and leaving me disgusted by the wife's forward behaviour to Pendarves. I now, according to my mother's advice, proposed to Pendarves a visit to London: but, to my great surprise, he seemed to have no relish for the scheme; and telling me we would talk further about it, he dropped the subject. Most gladly should I have welcomed this unwillingness to go to London, if I could have attributed it to a preference for home and for the country; but I had no reason to do this, and I feared it proceeded only from inability to meet the expenses of a London establishment, even for a few weeks; and of this I was soon convinced. I told you a few pages back, that I was so cruel as to rejoice in my aunt's being rendered unable to write, by a violent inflammation in the eyes; but as that did not deprive her of locomotion, most unexpectedly one day, Mr. and Mrs. Pendarves drove up to my mother's door, and soon after she accompanied them to our house. I was dressing when they arrived, and I saw myself change even to alarming paleness when my mother came up to announce them. I also saw she was as much disconcerted as I was. "Oh! if my dear uncle had but come alone," said she, "the visit would have been delightful!" But, here we were interrupted by Pendarves, who came in with "So, Helen! I suppose you know who is come. Oh! that one could but transfer the disease from the eyes to the tongue, and bandage that up instead of the former! What shall we do? For, probably, as she can't use her eyes, she makes her tongue work double tide." "Suppose," replied I, "we bribe our surgeon to assure her that entire silence is the only cure for inflamed eyes?" "The best thing we can do," observed my mother, "is to bear with fortitude this unavoidable evil; and also to try to remember her virtues more than her faults." When I went down, I found my mother admiring her beaver hat and feathers. "Yes," she replied, "I think my beaver very pretty. What is it the mad poet says about 'my beaver?' Oh! I have it-- 'When glory like a plume of feathers stood Perched on my beaver in the briny flood.'" "Do you then bathe in the sea with your beaver on?" said my mother.