When Mr. Tippetson, therefore, made his appearance, and her ladyship, just recovered from her tears, expressed with more than usual cordiality how glad she was to see him, it was impossible for so tender-hearted a creature as Mr. Tippetson not to make some kind and condoling remark on the appearance which she exhibited of illness or great affliction. “I am infinitely concerned to see your ladyship in low spirits this morning.” Thus spoke the tender Henry Augustus. “Oh, Mr. Tippetson,” responded her ladyship, “I may well be in low spirits. This very morning, my brute of a husband, God forgive me for using such language,” here her ladyship’s tears flowed afresh, “has absolutely insisted on my leaving town; and he says that we must both go and end our days at that vile dull place, Trimmerstone.” “Has your ladyship ever been at Trimmerstone?” inquired the attentive and sympathising youth. “Never,” replied her ladyship; “but I am sure it must be a dull place; there is not a soul to speak to but a dull country squire or two, and the parson of the parish, and he is but the curate; for it is such a stupid place that even the rector cannot reside there. His lordship did not seem to want much of my company in town--I think he might do very well without it in the country.” “Your ladyship is very ill-used,” said Mr. Tippetson; “I have been often astonished that you could patiently put up with such behaviour.” “But I must put up with it, Mr. Tippetson, I have no remedy.” So spake the Countess of Trimmerstone; but her ladyship knew that she had a remedy--only the remedy was worse than the disease. Mr. Tippetson also knew that there was a remedy; but Mr. Tippetson was not quite so great a novice as to name that remedy in so many words. He therefore made no reply, and her ladyship was also silent; yet her heart swelled, and the tears were in her eyes, and she seemed altogether given up to the hopelessness of sorrow. Now as Henry Augustus Tippetson was an adept in common-place, he knew that there was more prudence and policy in absolute silence under present circumstances, than in any language which he could utter. And as the Countess, in the hurry and agitation of her grief, was now in one part of the room, now in another, now sitting, now walking, now before the glass, and now before the window, Mr. Tippetson was always at her side; and after many changes of place, they at length sat down together on a sofa; and Mr. Tippetson, scarcely thinking what he did, actually took hold of her ladyship’s hand, and pressed it between his two hands more tenderly than any single man ought to press the hand of any married woman. What was the young gentleman’s design in this, or whether he had any design in it at all or not, we cannot say. But be it as it may, he approached her ladyship in such a questionable shape, that whether his intents were wicked or charitable, she spoke to him, saying, “Oh, Tippetson!”