Regardless of the profusion of words which Mrs. Beaumont continued pouring forth, he seated himself in an arm-chair, and, deep in reverie for some minutes, went on slowly striking his hands together, as he leaned with his arms on his knees. At length he rose, rang the bell, and said to the servant, “Sir, be so obliging as to let my man Crichton know that he need not hurry himself to pack up my clothes, for I shall not go to-morrow.” Struck with consternation at these words, Mrs. Beaumont, nevertheless, commanded the proper expression of joy on the occasion. “Delightful! I must go this instant,” cried she, “and be the first to tell this charming news to Amelia and Edward.” “Tell them, then, madam, if you please, that I have gained such a conquest over what Mr. Walsingham calls my hypochondriacism, that I am determined, at whatever risk, to stay another year in Old England, and that I hope to be present at both their weddings.” Mrs. Beaumont’s quick exit was at this moment necessary to conceal her dismay. Instead of going to Amelia, she hurried to her own room, locked the door, and sat down to compose her feelings and to collect her thoughts; but scarcely had she been two minutes in her apartment, when a messenger came to summon her to the festive scene in the park. The tenants and villagers were all at dinner, and Mr. Beaumont sent to let her know that they were waiting to drink her health. She was obliged to go, and to appear all radiant with pleasure. The contrast between their honest mirth and her secret sufferings was great. She escaped as soon as she could from their _senseless_ joy, and again shut herself up in her own room.