“Won’t you be seated? I hope all our friends--” Mrs. Buckhurst, or, as she was called, Mrs. Dean Falconer, made divers motions, with a very ugly chin, and stood as if she thought there ought to be an introduction. The dean knew it, but being ashamed to introduce her, determined against it. Alfred stood in suspension, waiting their mutual pleasure. “Won’t you sit down, sir?” repeated the dean. Down plumped Mrs. Falconer directly, and taking out her spectacles, as if to shame her husband, by heightening the contrast of youth and age, deliberately put them on; then drawing her table nearer, settled herself to her work. Alfred, who saw it to be necessary, determined to use his best address to conciliate the lady. “Mr. Dean, you have never yet done me the honour to introduce me to Mrs. Falconer.” “I thought--I thought we had met before--since--Mrs. Falconer, Mr. Alfred Percy.” The lady took off her spectacles, smiled, and adjusted herself, evidently with an intention to be more agreeable. Alfred sat down by her work-table, directed his conversation to her, and soon talked, or rather induced her to talk herself into fine humour. Presently she retired to dress for dinner, and “hoped Mr. Alfred Percy had no intention of running away--_she_ had a well-aired bed to offer him.” The dean, though he cordially hated his lady, was glad, for his own sake, to be relieved from her fits of crossness; and was pleased by Alfred’s paying attention to her, as this was a sort of respect to himself, and what he seldom met with from those young men who had been his companions before his marriage--they usually treated his lady with a neglect or ridicule which reflected certainly upon her husband. Alfred never yet had touched upon his business, and Buckhurst began to think this was merely a friendly visit. Upon Alfred’s observing some alteration which had been lately made in the room in which they were sitting, the dean took him to see other improvements in the house; in pointing out these, and all the conveniences and elegancies about the parsonage, Buckhurst totally forgot the _dilapidation suit_; and every thing he showed and said tended unawares to prove that the house was in the most perfect repair and best condition possible. Gradually, whatever solemnity and beneficed pomp there had at first appeared in the dean’s manner, wore off, or was laid aside; and, except his being somewhat more corpulent and rubicund than in early years, he appeared like the original Buckhurst. His gaiety of heart, indeed, was gone, but some sparkles of his former spirits remained. “Here,” said he, showing Alfred into his study, “here, as our good friend Mr. _Blank_ said, when he showed us his study, ‘_Here_ is _where_ I read all day long--quite snug--and nobody’s a bit the wiser for it.’” The dean seated himself in his comfortable arm-chair. “Try that chair, Alfred, excellent for sleeping in at one’s ease.” “To rest the cushion and soft dean invite.”