“And I should not be worth the trouble, Lady Bell,” the gentleman hastened to explain; “I am afraid that I am incorrigible to any fair, fine lady’s pains.” Though neither of them exactly meant it, they were both so disdainful, that it was a good deal like flinging down gauntlets on the first brush of their introduction—a mutual challenge, which was so far owing to Lady Sundon’s blundering cordiality. “Oh! not so bad as that, Harry,” exclaimed the good lady, who really liked her cousin, as she liked pickles or the preserved ginger, with regard to which he had once been so mindful as to bring her a jar from the West Indies. “I am quite convinced, Lady Bell, that he needs only to be smiled and frowned upon by one of our sex, and to hang on our smiles and tremble at our frowns, to be properly humbled, and made a mighty agreeable fellow of.” “Indeed, ma’am,” answered Lady Bell, in a tone which sounded very much as if she had said, “He may, or he may not; I am sure I don’t care.” “You are wrong, cousin,” replied Captain Fane quickly, “I don’t pretend to be worse or better than my neighbours, certainly; but I do profess that where neither my judgment nor my conscience is addressed, I am not particularly susceptible to the wiles either of smiles or frowns, or for that matter of tears.” “Oh, you wretch!” cried out even the Misses Sundon. “Why, what would you have?” remonstrated Captain Fane; “you ladies must submit to the fact that there are some ill-conditioned rebels against the rule of blandishments, while sea-horses of all horses are the worst to tame. However, a truce to me and my nature, a monstrously uninteresting subject to introduce, Lady Sundon; what have you been doing with yourself lately?” “Oh, we have been doing what we could when Sir Peter would spare us, so as to make the town and society the better even for my blowsy phiz; but I’ve had my day, Harry, I’ve had my day. We’ve seen Mr. Garrick take leave of the stage in the _Wonder_, and the new Italian singer—what’s-his-name—make his first appearance in _Artaxerxes_. We’ve heard Dr. Dodd preach in aid of the society for the recovery of the drowned, and been present at one of Madam Montague’s dinners to the chimney-sweeps. We’ve walked in the Mall and Kensington Gardens whenever the sun would keep us in countenance, which was not too often, when the sulky rogue let the Thames be froze at Mortlake during the late fall of snow. We’ve been both to the Queen’s House and the Mansion House, and to ever so many dinners and routs. We’ve even had our share of the new sickness, the influenza, which is all the vogue, though we could have dispensed with that token of fashion. I could not tell you all that we’ve been and done, Cousin Harry.” “I think you’ve told me pretty well, Cousin Sundon,” quoth Harry. “I almost hesitate to propose that you should take a stroll, you must all be so knocked up; no wonder that Miss Sundon and Miss Lyddy look as if a breath of air would blow them away.”