Lady Maclairn’s appearance prevented more. She came to summons us to breakfast, and with the utmost frankness told me that she had been to pay her respects to Mrs. Allen, who was very busy with her band-boxes, and had ordered a breakfast and a maid-servant into her apartment. She conducted me, whilst chatting, to the “Old Wing,” in which Miss Flint more particularly holds her state; and we found her richly decorated, and waiting for us at a tea-board most splendidly set out. Sir Murdock had mechanically, I suspect, followed our steps, and entered the room with us. Miss Lucretia’s face flushed a deeper dye. “Good God, Sir Murdock!” exclaimed she, “you are enough to frighten one in _that trim_.” “Did I frighten you?” asked he in a plaintive tone, and with a look which would have softened any Flint but the one before him. He was retreating. “I will have no infringement of our treaty of amity,” cried I gaily, and gently placing him on the sofa beside me. “It is my turn to frighten you to-morrow morning, by shewing myself in my wrapping gown and night-cap. We have nothing to do with ceremony and constraint: let those have it who fancy they are never dressed without white-fingered gloves.” I glanced my saucy eyes on Miss Flint’s starched muslins; she perceived the application, but I was _en train_; and affecting to be hungry, I took a roll and divided it between my silent neighbour and myself; and finding Lady Maclairn was to preside at the silver tea-board, I impatiently begged a cup of chocolate. Then, with well-counterfeited recollection, I said, “But where is Miss Howard? she is better entitled to her breakfast than I am, for she was walking before me.” “Mary does not breakfast with me,” replied Miss Flint, “she has it in her own room.” “I am glad I have so good a precedent to produce for my humour,” answered I, “though it deprives me of present pleasure; I also usually breakfast in my own room, for I regard an hour in the morning as the most precious in the day. But as a stranger,” added I, smiling, “may I presume to ask when, and at what hour, I may hope to see this beautiful creature? Does she dine also in her own room?” This question was answered with much haughtiness. “As a stranger, Miss Cowley,” said she gravely, “it may _surprise_ you, to find so near a relation of mine under restrictions which I deem proper. Mary knows my views; these extend no farther than to make her useful, and to qualify her for the station in life which the imprudent conduct of her parents has destined her to fill. She must be humble. Besides,” continued she, relaxing into more civility, “your praises of her beauty quite alarm me, and would turn her silly head. She is young, and vain and silly enough to think herself a very pretty girl.” “Why, my dear Madam,” asked I, laughing at the extreme gravity of this remark, “how in the name of common sense, can Miss Howard think otherwise of a face and a person so