“Oh! name an early day,” cried Miss Hunter, in a fondling tone; “name an early day for my brother’s coming; and then, you know, it will be so _nice_ to have the wedding days fixed for both marriages. And, dearest Mrs. Beaumont, remember I am to be your bride’s-maid; and we’ll have a magnificent wedding, and I shall be bride’s-maid!” “The dear innocent little creature, how mad she is with spirits! Well, you shall be my bride’s-maid, if the thing takes place.” “_If.--If_ to the winds!--Captain Lightbody, tell my brother--No, I’ll write myself, and tell him he may come.” “How she distresses me! But she is so affectionate, one does not know how to be angry with her. But, my dear, as to naming the day when he may publicly declare himself, I cannot; for, you know, I have to break the affair to Mr. Palmer, and to my son and daughter, and I must take my own time, and find a happy moment for this; so name a day I cannot; but in general--and it’s always safest to use general terms--you may say, _soon_.” This was Mrs. Beaumont’s ultimatum. The note was written accordingly, and committed to the care of the confidential captain. This business of mysterious note-writing, and secret negotiations[5], was peculiarly suited to our heroine’s genius and taste. Considering the negotiation to be now in effect brought within view of a happy termination, her ambassador, furnished with her ultimatum, having now actually set out on his ostensible mission of duck-shooting, our fair negotiatrix prepared to show the usual degree of gratitude towards those who had been the principal instruments of her success. The proper time, she thought, was now arrived, when, having no further occasion for Miss Hunter’s services, she might finally undeceive her young friend as to any hopes she might retain of a union with Mr. Beaumont; and she felt that it was now indispensably necessary to disclose the truth, that her son had declared his attachment to Miss Walsingham. Mrs. Beaumont opened the delicate case with a sigh, which claimed the notice of her young confidante. “What a deep sigh!” said Miss Hunter, who was perfect, to use a musical term, in her lessons, _pour observer les soupirs_: “What a sigh! I hope it was for my poor brother?” “Ah, no, my love! for one nearer my heart--for you.” “For me!--dear me!” “You see before you a mother, all of whose fondest wishes and plans are doomed to be frustrated by her children. Amelia would have her way: I was forced to yield. My son follows her example, insists upon marrying without fortune, or extraordinary beauty, or any of the advantages which I had fondly pointed out in the daughter-in-law of my heart. You turn away from me, my darling! How shall I go on? how shall I tell you all the terrible truth?” “Oh, ma’am, pray go on; pray tell me all.” “Miss Walsingham; that’s all, in one word. These Walsinghams have forced themselves into my family,--fairly outwitted me. I cannot tell you how much, how deeply I am mortified!”