But Caroline’s troubles were to come. Captain Wareham reproached her for having no cold meat, and told her how he had been obliged to send, in one direction to the eating-house to buy a cold fowl at twice its value—to the pastry-cook for some puffs—to the fruiterers for some fruit, to conceal her bad housekeeping. “You would not have people go away from one’s house hungry, would you? Though I am poor, I cannot submit to that.” Caroline knew that to remind him of what he had said the day before would only increase his wrath, and she bore it in unreplying meekness, while she secretly wondered whether Mr. Weston was likely to be more serious in his attentions than Major Barton had proved. The momentous evening arrived: Captain Wareham looked with paternal pride at his two daughters, as he led them into the ball-room—the fair and delicate Caroline, with her small but beautifully rounded form, her regular features, and her alabaster skin, and the tall and sylph-like Ellen, whose beauty was of a loftier character. Her straight and clearly-defined eyebrows, her broad white forehead, and her noble cast of countenance, were softened and subdued by a pensive grace which rendered her appearance as interesting as it was striking. The full white eyelids were fringed with long and black eyelashes which almost swept her cheeks; and when she raised those eyes, there was a liquid lustre in the depth of their dark blue, which might have found its way to the coldest heart. Mr. Cresford, a young and wealthy London merchant, was not one whose coldness rendered him proof against these same eyes. On the contrary, he was an impassioned and impetuous youth, who fell in love with Ellen at first sight, danced with her all night, sat by her at supper, and never left her side till he had handed her to her carriage. The next morning the sisters were preparing to take their accustomed exercise, and Ellen had put on her common straw bonnet, when Caroline remonstrated. “It is quite fine, you may just as well wear your Sunday bonnet to-day.” “This will do very well for the garden. I promised Will Pollard to help him to pot the geraniums for the winter.” “Surely, Ellen, you are not going to poke about in our little confined garden. Do let us walk into the town. There are all the people we met at the ball last night; we shall be sure to see some of them.” “But I promised the gardener to help him. You know papa cannot afford to have him more than three days in the week, and if we do not assist him a little, the garden can never look nice.”