it? she looks sometimes as if she had a mind to laugh; and then she casts down her hugeous eyes, and colours up as red as a turkey cock, all out of pride! But I'm resolved she shan't ruinate Carline's English; I'll supersede that myself." [Footnote 4: And by her walk the queen of love is known. DRYDEN. ] Dinner being announced, prevented Mrs. Sullivan's female auditors from making either comment or reply, except by an "alphabet of looks," which had this sapient lady possessed sufficient shrewdness to decipher, she would not have been much gratified by its import. CHAPTER V. Once on a time, so runs the fable, A country mouse, right hospitable, Received a town mouse at his board, Just as a farmer would a lord. POPE. The dessert was scarcely laid on the table and the servants withdrawn, when a clatter of pattens and a loud talking announced the arrival of the guests from Deane. Mrs. Galton and Miss Seymour were anxious to retire immediately; but Mrs. Sullivan was too busily engaged paying her devoirs to a fine peach, and her second daughter in monopolizing those of Mr. Mordaunt, to attend the signal; whilst Miss Webberly was slanderously attributing to the family of "Gases" affinities and products that never before had been hinted at; and was so eagerly bent on astonishing Mr. Temple by a discourse "_EnflÈ de vent, vide de raison_," that some minutes elapsed before the _debouching_ was effected. They however reached the huge fire-place, now decked in all the pride of summer's bloom, which marked the centre of the old-fashioned hall, before the finishing strokes were given to the toilets of the newly-arrived party. "I declare here they all come!" exclaimed Mrs. Martin; "Lucy, my dear, hold up your head. Here, put this pocket-handkerchief in your bonnet for night, whilst I just slip your shoes and stockings into your ridicule." "How d'ye do, Mrs. Galton? Thank ye, ma'am, my Lucy's used to walking--never catches cold. We were twice at Vauxhall last spring two year. Well certainly, Miss Seymour, the country air does agree with you; you look vastly well. Pray, my dear miss, isn't that Mrs. Sullivan and the two Miss Webberlys? They don't seem to remember me. I'll just go and ask whether the currant wine I made 'em a present of was good or not." So saying, the active Mrs. Martin bustled up to Mrs. Sullivan to recommence her usual string of queries, without waiting for an answer to any one of those she had already made with such uninterrupted volubility. But Mrs. Sullivan's pomposity was not to be discomposed by any sudden attack. She was by this time sitting, or rather reclining, (for reposing it could not be called) on the high-backed, hard-bottomed, uncushioned, damask-covered sofa, which had not yet resigned its proud and ancient place against the side wall of Sir Henry's drawing-room. She was paying as much attention to Mrs. Galton's conversation as repeated yawns would permit, an