And I think I was the only one present to realise the whole ingenuity of the manœuvre. For she had contrived here, in the open family circle, before a dozen people, yet with entire meetness and propriety, to address Mr. Weaverly by his Christian name. As the meal progressed, and tongues became generally loosened, Mr. Parrett—whose silence, except as regarded his hearty application to his food, had so far remained unbroken—now essayed to contribute his share of the talk. His first effort was a startling one. ‘D-d-d’ he began, smiling over his shoulder at me, ‘d-do you l-l-l—’ He stopped, and gazed helplessly towards his wife. ‘Like, dear?’ suggested Mrs. Parrett, softly. ‘N-no! I was agoing t-t-to ask ye if ye l-l-l—’ ‘Lend, then?’ ‘Hur, hur! Emma, I don’t want to b-b-borrow nauthin’ o’ the gentleman! It was just to ask if he l-l-lived—there y’ are!—in W-w-w— Whatsay, Jane?’ ‘’Tis apple-pie, George. Or maybe ye’d sooner try the—’ ‘Pie, Jane! Pie, my d-dear! Pie, if _you_ please, mum! An’ a double dose o’ sh-sh-shuggar. They allers says—don’t they, sir?—as if a man has a sweet-t-t-t—’ ‘Sweetheart, dear?’ ‘Oo, ay!’ laughed Mr. Parrett, suddenly inspired. He looked across the table roguishly at Mr. Weaverly and Matilda, and all glances followed his. ‘Ah, well: n-n-never mind! We was all young once, and—’ Mrs. Coles deftly drew the fire of attention away from the absorbed, unconscious pair. ‘William, dear; Emma has nothing in her glass. And there you sit, staring at the cheese as if—as if it were only for show, and as wooden as you are! And do pray pass the old ale to Mr.—’ ‘Oh, deplorably, deplorably so!’ sighed Mr. Weaverly to the rapt Matilda. ‘Over and over again I have remonstrated with her, but all in vain, I fear. Each time I have said, “Mrs. Gates, if you will feed little children on new hot bread, and red herrings, and”—only think of it!—“beer, you will find not only their physical but their moral nature entirely—”’ It is strange how, in a room full of heterogeneous talk, the attention of a quiet listener flits uncontrollably from one quarter to another. Much as I was interested in Mrs. Gates’s domestic policy, I lost it here, to find myself in the rick-yard, taking part, against my will, in some complicated sporting affray. ‘And there were three of them, father, in the trough; and I crept up and got the gun-barrel through a hole in the side of the sty, and just as the old buck-rat—’ And then it was Mr. Parrett again. ‘Emma ’ull tell ye b-b-better ’n me, Jane. It came hoot-tooting round the corner, and afore I could s-s-s—’ ‘Stop, George?’ ‘N-n-nonsense!—afore I could s-s-s—’ ‘Seize hold o’ the—?’ ‘Emma, do bide quiet!—afore I could s-s-say Jack Robinson, the ould mare, she b-b-backed upon her harnches, and she—’ And from Miss Matilda: ‘Oh! I should so love to, Mr. Weaverly! Is there a very beautiful view? And could we walk there and back in an afternoon, do you think?’