“Dear madam, explain all your reasons, or we shall never understand one another, and never come to an end of these half explanations.” Here they were interrupted by seeing Mr. Twigg, a courtly clergyman, coming towards them. Beaumont was obliged to endure his tiresome flattery upon the beauties of Beaumont Park, and upon the judicious improvements that were making, had been made, and would, no doubt, be very soon made. Mrs. Beaumont, at last, relieved his or her own impatience by commissioning Mr. Twigg to walk round the improvements by himself. By himself she insisted it should be, that she might have his unbiassed judgment upon the two lines which had been marked for the new belt or screen; and he was also to decide whether they should call it a belt or a screen.--Honoured with this commission, he struck off into the walk to which Mrs. Beaumont pointed, and began his solitary progress. Mr. Beaumont then urged his mother to go on with her explanation. Mrs. Beaumont thought that she could not hazard much by flattering the vanity of a man on that subject on which perhaps it is most easily flattered; therefore, after sufficient delicacy of circumlocution, she informed her son that there was a young lady who was actually dying for love of him; whose extreme fondness would make her live but in him; and who, besides having a natural ductility of character, and softness of temper, was perfectly free from any formidable superiority of intellect, and had the most exalted opinion of his capacity, as well as of his character and accomplishments; in short, such an enthusiastic adoration, as would induce that belief in the infallibility of a husband, which must secure to him the fullest enjoyment of domestic peace, power, and pre-eminence. Mr. Beaumont seemed less moved than his mother had calculated that the vanity of man must be, by such a declaration--discovery it could not be called. “If I am to take all this seriously, madam,” replied he, laughing, “and if, _au pied de la lettre_ my vanity is to believe that this damsel is dying for love; yet, still I have so little chivalry in my nature, that I cannot understand how it would add to my happiness to sacrifice myself to save her life. That I am well suited to her, I am as willing as vanity can make me to believe; but how is it to be proved that the lady is suited to me?” “My dear, these things do not admit of logical proof.” “Well--moral, sentimental, or any kind of proof you please.” “Have you no pity? and is not pity akin to love?” “Akin! Oh, yes, ma’am, it is akin; but for that very reason it may not be a friend--relations, you know, in these days, are as often enemies as friends.” “Vile pun! far-fetched quibble!--provoking boy!--But I see you are not in a humour to be serious, so I will take another time to talk to you of this affair.” “Now or never, ma’am, for mercy’s sake!” “Mercy’s sake! you who show none--Ah! this is the way with you men; all this is play to you, but death to us.”