“I daresay she would! But never mind Lizzie just now; trust me, there will be enough about _her_ by and by, or I am much mistaken. Do you know that the Major is going on with his tricks, and his betting, worse than ever? Jane Bolland says that he sends as many as six telegrams a day--and always about racing. There will be a fine ruction there soon, and George Holroyd will have to support the whole family. If he marries Belle Redmond, he will have his hands full. When she is in a passion, she is like a madwoman; she threw a lighted candle at Katey Brady, they say, for spoiling a petticoat, and indeed I think there must be a touch of madness in the family. She is so restless, and fond of gay colours, and has the eyes and laugh of a woman who would go out of her mind for very little. I pity George Holroyd.” “He will never marry her, Maria,” rejoined Miss Dopping emphatically. “_She_ will marry him, and it comes to the same thing,” returned Maria, with great determination. “They have a fire in the drawing-room every day, and she wears her best clothes, and walks back with him through the woods with a shawl over her head, leaning on his arm too! and is always sending him notes by Foxy Joe. I went over there myself one day, with a collecting card; of course _that_ was a fool’s errand! but I wanted to see how the land lay, and indeed,” with a sniff of virtuous scorn, “I saw enough! I wonder if Mr. Holroyd knows about that officer in the Sky Blues!” “Not he,” replied Miss Dopping in her sharpest key. “If he must take a wife from Noone, why does he not take Betty?” “Betty! that wild slip, running about the country with Cuckoo, after every old fern, and fossil?” “And is it not more respectable than to be running after a young man?” enquired the other forcibly. “She is eighteen, she is well educated, and she really _is_ a lady.” “She is only an awkward slip of a girl; her eyes and hair are not too bad, but _I_ call her very plain, with her thin cheeks and pasty face.” “Plain!” echoed Miss Dopping, shrilly. “Yes, and what else?” retorted Maria, stoutly. “Just listen to _me_, Maria. Old Robert Lynch, who was a terrible man for the ladies in his day, and the best of judges, saw her once, and said that in a year or two, she will be able to give two stone and a beating to any girl in the country. He said he would keep his eye on her.” “I would not doubt him, the old scamp! Bob Lynch ought to be thinking of his sins, and of his latter end, instead of talking trash,” said Maria, severely. “However, Betty is not out yet.” “And when she does come out,” retorted her champion, “you’ll find there will be a half-a-dozen young men waiting on the steps to marry her--and so George is at Noone every day?” “Yes, for hours,” replied Miss Finny, in a tone that was almost tragic. “Well, I see only two chances for him--and they are either to break his neck, or to run away from that scheming, brazen creature.”