“You seem to forget, Dudley, that the young lady has a will of her own. She's a Lendrick too.” “With all my heart, mother. She 'll not be a match for Lucy.” “And would _she_--” “Ay, would she,” interrupted he, “if her pride as a woman--if her jealousy was touched. I have made her do more than that when I wounded her self-love!” “You are a very amiable husband, I must say.” “We might be better, perhaps, mother; but I suspect we are pretty much like our neighbors. And it's positive you won't come to dinner?” “No! certainly not.” “Well, I 'll try and look in at tea-time. You 'll not forget what I spoke of. I shall be in funds in less than three weeks.” She gave a little incredulous laugh as she said “Goodbye!” She had heard of such pledges before, and knew well what faith to attach to them. CHAPTER XXXIII. EVENING AT THE PRIORY The Chief Baron brought his friend Haire back from Court to dine with him. The table had been laid for five, and it was only when Sewell entered the drawing-room that it was known Lady Lendrick had declined the invitation. Sir William heard the apology to the end; he even waited when Sewell concluded, to see if he desired to add anything more, but nothing came. “In that case,” said he, at length, “we 'll order dinner.” That his irritation was extreme needed no close observation to detect, and the bell-rope came down with the pull by which he summoned the servant. The dinner proceeded drearily enough. None liked to adventure on a remark which might lead to something unpleasant in discussion, and little was spoken on any side. Sewell praised the mutton, and the Chief Baron bowed stiffly. When Haire remarked that the pale sherry was excellent, he dryly told the butler to “fill Mr. Haire's glass;” and though Lucy, with more caution, was silent, she did not escape, for he turned towards her and said, “We have not been favored with a word from your lips, Miss Lendrick; I hope these neuralgic headaches are not becoming a family affection.” “I am perfectly well, sir,” said she, with a smile. “It is Haire's fault, then,” said the Judge, with one of his malicious twinkles of the eye,--“all Haire's fault if we are dull. It is ever so with wits, Colonel Sewell; they will not perform to empty benches.” “I don't know whom you call a wit,” began Haire. “My dear friend, the men of pleasantry and happy conceits must no more deny the reputation that attaches to them than must a rich merchant dishonor his bill; nor need a man resent more being called a Wit, than being styled a Poet, a Painter, a Chief Baron, or”--here he waved his hand towards Sewell, and bowing slightly, added--“a Chief Registrar to the Court of Exchequer.” “Oh, have you got the appointment?” said Haire to the Colonel. “I am heartily glad of it. I 'm delighted to know it has been given to one of the family.”