“All the news, I am sure,” said Miss Lydia; “we, of course, never hear anything till it has happened. Provoking! Loo, shouldn’t you like to go to Miss Harwood’s maid, and ask her to show you the chickens? She has a perfect genius for poultry, though she is such a little thing; and Miss Amelia has such loves of dorkings. We shan’t be leaving for half an hour; now go, there’s a dear!” “Thank you, cousin Lydia, I’d rather look at the things for the bazaar,” returned Loo, lifting a pair of acute suspicious eyes; a pale-faced little creature, sharp-witted and vigilant, instinctively conscious why her amusement was thus carefully provided for—Loo did not choose to go. “Such a nuisance!” said Miss Laura; “I say we are just far enough off at the manor to be out of reach of everything except the bores and the troubles. You always think of us when you have stupid visitors, but you keep all that’s exciting to yourselves. Loo, darling! the Miss Harwoods’ violets are always out earlier than any one else’s. I have such a passion for violets! Do run out, dear, and see if you can find one for me yonder under the hedge.” “I will ask mamma to send you some to-morrow, cousin Laura,” said the determined little Loo. “Did you ever hear anything like it?” said Miss Lydia, in a half whisper. “Loo!” “Loo will carry this basket up-stairs for me to my room,” said Miss Harwood, “and ask Harriet to show you the things in my cupboard, dear. All the prettiest things are there, and such a very grand cushion that I mean to make your mamma buy. Tell Harriet to show you everything; there’s a darling! That is a very bright little girl, my dears,” said the old lady, when Loo withdrew, reluctant but dutiful. “I hope nothing will ever be done to crush her spirit. I suppose you must have both come to tell us it’s not true.” “Oh, you mean about my brother and Mary Clifford,” cried out both sisters in a breath. “Oh, Miss Harwood, did you ever hear of such a thing! Did you ever know anything so dreadful! Tom, that might have married anybody!” cried Miss Lydia; “and Mary Clifford, that was so inconsolable, and pretended to have broken her heart!” cried the younger sister. They were both in a flutter of eagerness, neither permitting the other to speak. “Oh dear, dear, it does come so hard upon us,” said Miss Laura, “we that have always had such a prejudice against second marriages; and a cousin’s widow—it’s almost like a brother; and if poor Harry could rise from his grave, what would he say!” concluded Miss Lydia, who took up the strain without any intervals of punctuation. “I begin to think it’s all true the gentlemen say about women’s inconstancy; that is, your common style of women,” ran on the elder without any pause; “and poor dear Tom, who might have married any one,” cried the younger, out of breath.