seems Edmund has got over all his mighty objections to matrimony!” “Yes—they are in a wonderful hurry, it would appear,” said Julia. “But what can Sir Archibald’s going away have to do with their arrangements?” “I cannot imagine,” replied Frances. “Perhaps Edmund is about to turn out to be Sir Archibald’s son.” “Sir Archibald’s son, you know,” returned Julia, who had inwardly studied the subject in all its bearings, “is mentioned as a boy; besides, he is living with Lady Oswald in the Isle of Man; and never was lost or found in infancy, as Edmund was.” “That is true!” answered Frances, “that won’t do—but he must be some way related to Sir Archibald, (for what my uncle said, must mean something,) and in that case, I dare say, they will consent to the marriage.” Julia looked at Lady Susan, and again wondered why she did not look happy. “That is a good lad, that Captain Montgomery,” observed Lady Arandale. (Lad is a term applied by elderly Scotch ladies to all men of all sizes and ages, not quite as old as themselves.) “He has made a good sum of money, it seems,” continued her ladyship, “and will make a very good use of it, I dare say.” Lady Susan coloured slightly, and told Henry he had eaten no breakfast. “Are you all prepared for the race-course, young ladies?” inquired Lady Arandale. “We had better arrange how the carriages shall be filled.” “There is my barouche for any one that likes,” said Lady Morven, “for I shall positively go in the curricle with Graham.” “We can accommodate two ladies,” said Julia, “if Henry and Captain Montgomery ride.” It was the first time she had named Edmund, Captain Montgomery, and the sound of her own voice pronouncing the words, startled her. “There is no scarcity of carriages, my dear,” replied Lady Arandale; “there is my barouche, and my lord’s chariot, and the family coach, and the General’s barouche, and all the young men’s curricles and nondescripts; I only mean to plan how the several parties may like best to be disposed of. As for my Lady Morven’s barouche, I advise that none who regard their necks may trust themselves with her horses.” “La! ma’am,” interrupted Lady Morven, “who would drive any thing but blood-horses!” “I fancy, my dear,” returned Lady Arandale, “my Lord drives as good horses as your ladyship; though they are not mad ones! It was but the last races, you know, that one of your ladyship’s leaders killed an unfortunate boy.” “I beg your la’—ship’s pardon a thousand times,” observed Mr. Graham, “but that certainly was the boy’s own fault.” “How so, pray?” “Why, the boy should have staid at home, and, I will venture to affirm, that Lady Morven’s leader would never have hurt him! Really such creatures should keep themselves from under the feet of people of fashion.”