"My dear, I will not disguise from thee that John Rowe's visit concerneth thee. He hath asked leave of thy father and me in order to his becoming thy servant. Now, dear child, neither I nor thy father desire to control thy choice; thou shalt speak for thyself. What sayest thou? Wilt thou marry John Rowe, or not?" "My dear mother!" responded Isabella, still busy with the wools, "he will come to the wedding in a blue coat and a lilac waistcoat and lavender small-clothes!" "I dare say, if thou art so particular, that he will dress in what color thou wouldst," said Madam Passmore, smiling. "But what is thy mind, child? Dost thou like him?" "I don't care anything about him, but I cannot abide his suits," returned the young lady, comparing the skeins. "Mother isn't asking you to marry his clothes, Bell!" exclaimed Charley. "My dear, I am not asking her to marry him," said Madam Passmore; "I only wish to know her mind about it. If thou dost not care about him, child, I suppose thou wilt wish us to refuse his addresses?" "No, I don't say that exactly," replied Isabella, undoing one of her two skeins. "Then what dost thou wish, my dear?" inquired Madam Passmore, looking rather puzzled. "Oh! do wait a minute, till I settle this red," said Isabella. "I beg your pardon, Mother--yes, that will do. Dear, 'tis quite a weight off my mind! Now then for this other matter." "Child, the other matter imports rather to thee, surely, than the colors of thy worsteds!" "I am sure it does not, Mother, asking your pardon. I have been all the morning over these reds. Well, as to John Rowe, I don't much mind marrying him if he will let me choose his suits, and give me two hundred pounds a year pin-money, and keep me a coach-and-pair, and take me up to London at least once in ten years. I don't think of anything else. Please to ask him." "Don't much mind!" repeated her mother, looking dissatisfied and perplexed. "Bell, dear child, I fear thou dost not apprehend the import of that thou dost. 'Tis a choice for thy whole life, child! Do think upon it, and leave thy worsteds alone for a while!" "If you want a downright answer, Mother, you shall have it," returned Isabella, with the air of one ending an unpleasant interruption. "I will marry John Rowe if he will keep me a coach-and-pair, and give me two hundred a year pin-money, and take me to London--say once every four years--I may as well do it thoroughly while I am about it--and of course let me drive in the Ring, and go to Ranelagh and Vauxhall, and see the lions in the Tower, and go to St. James's, and all on in that way. There! now that is settled." Madam Passmore looked scarcely more satisfied than before, but she said, "Well, my dear, if that be thy wish, thou hadst better go and speak with John Rowe, and let him know thy conditions." "O Mother! with all these worsteds on my lap!" deprecated Isabella, raising her eyebrows. "Put them here, Bell," interposed Celia, holding her apron.