How different from the animated discussion at Lady Mandeville’s, was the loud laugh and boisterous tone of Lady Augusta Selwyn, whom Calantha found, on her return, at that very moment stepping from her carriage, and enquiring for her. “Ah, my dear sweet friend,” she cried, flying towards Calantha, and shaking her painfully by the hand, “this fortuitous concurrence of atoms, fills my soul with rapture. But I was resolved to see you. I have promised and vowed three things in your name; therefore, consider me as your sponsor, and indeed I am old enough to be such. In the first place, you must come to me to-night, for I have a little supper, and all my guests attend only in the hope of meeting you. You are the bribe I have held out—you are to stand me in lieu of a good house, good cook, agreeable husband, and pretty face,—in all of which I am most unfortunately deficient. Having confessed thus much, it would be barbarous, it would be inhuman you know to refuse me. Now for the second favour,” continued this energetic lady:—“come alone; for though I have a great respect for Mrs. and Miss Seymour, yet I never know what I am about when their very sensible eyes are fixed upon me.”—“Oh you need not fear, Sophia would not come if I wished it; and Mrs. Seymour”—“I have something else to suggest,” interrupted Lady Augusta:—“introduce me immediately to your husband: he is divine, I hear—perfectly divine!” “I cannot at this moment; but”—“By the bye, why were you not at the ball last night. I can tell you there were some who expected you there. Yes, I assure you, a pair of languid blue eyes watching for you—a fascinating new friend waiting to take you home to a _petit souper très-bien assorti_. I went myself. It was monstrously dull at the ball:—insupportable, I assure you; perfectly so. Mrs. Turner and her nine daughters! It is quite a public calamity, Mrs. Turner being so very prolific—the produce so frightful. Amongst other animals, when they commit such blunders, the brood is drowned; but we christians are suffered to grow up till the land is overrun.” “Heigho.” “What is the matter? You look so _triste_ to-day, not even my wit can enliven you.—Isn’t it well, love? or has its husband been plaguing it? Now I have it:—you have, perchance, been translating an Ode of Pindar. I was there myself this morning; and it gave me the vapours for ten minutes; but I am used to these things you know child, and you are a novice. By the bye, where is your cousin, _le beau capitaine, le chef des brigands_? I was quite frappè with his appearance.” “You may think it strange,” said Calantha, “but I have not seen him these eight years—not since he was quite a child.” “Oh, what an interview there will be then,” said Lady Augusta: “he is a perfect ruffian.”