"My dear sir, he is your son!" replied Mr. Driesen, with a cynical bow; "but, begging your pardon, I said what I did quite advisedly. She is a great deal too pretty for him to acknowledge the justice of what I said. He is even now gone up to his room, not only excessively angry at me for saying it, but thinking Lucy Effingham ten times as beautiful as he did the minute before, simply because I compared her to a French flowerpot. He will, in all probability, dream of her all night, and will rise to-morrow morning fully prepared to tilt his wit against mine in her defence." "Perhaps you are right," replied Sir Francis Tyrrell, "though you concealed your meaning so well that I did not perceive it: Latet anguis in herbâ Driesen, eh? I did not perceive the reptile under the flowerpot, though I might have known, too, that there must be a snake under any flowers that you choose to cull;" and thus, having repaid him for the rejoinder to the Aragonese mule, Sir Francis Tyrrell wished him good-night, and they mutually retired. Mr. Driesen went up to his room; saw that everything was comfortable for the night; put his two feet upon the hobs by the side of the fire, and made some calculation on a piece of paper resting on his knee. He then took down, from a corner in which he had placed it when he unpacked his baggage, Hobbes's Leviathan, without which he never travelled; varied it with an article out of Bayle; added a page or two of Petronius, and then, upon the comfortable doctrines he had imbibed, went to bed and slept. On the following morning, Lady Tyrrell sent her maid to inform Mrs. Effingham that, having a violent headache, she was compelled, as the only means of removing it, to remain in bed. In truth, the arrival of her son and of unexpected guests had excited her more than usual, and her health was so shattered by anxiety, grief, and disappointment, that a very little agitation had a serious effect upon her. The morning was thus passed by Mrs. Effingham and her daughter with the three gentlemen only; and on Sir Francis proposing to walk through the grounds to visit the old manor-house, Mrs. Effingham declined, but said her daughter would go, while she herself would visit Lady Tyrrell in her own room. Sir Francis took the hint that had been given by Mr. Driesen the night before, and having fancied that his son was somewhat struck by the beauty of Lucy Effingham, and was inclined to court her society, he determined to throw a few obstacles in the way, and declared that he would have the young lady's company all to himself, so that Charles and Mr. Driesen might amuse themselves the best way they could.