"You are very handsome, certainly, dear Clara--very handsome. Mr. Boscawen says you are a very beautiful girl." "Well," replied Clara, smiling complacently, "I must be up and be doing. Sir Foster is very rich." "Oh! Clara, and so is Mr. Boscawen: but I never have any money. Once Mr. Boscawen gave me a guinea, and then took it back again because I would not keep an account of all I spent. I bought a shilling's worth of alicampane, and made myself so ill! However, I did not say I had bought it; so, as I could not account for the shilling, I was obliged to relinquish the rest. Don't marry an old man, Clara!" "Sir Foster lets every body spend his money, Isabel." "Ah, but remember what Mr. Boscawen promised, Clara! I was promised every thing, and got nothing. You don't know how disagreeable it is to be shut up in a morning, reading and translating." "I shan't read or translate to please Sir Foster," said Clara, with scornful energy. "I marry upon other principles." "Well, Clara, only try not to marry an old man, for I assure you it is a very unpleasant thing." "I wonder if Sir Foster _will_ call to-morrow, Isabel?" "Oh, to be sure he will: I am sure I should, if any one asked me." "Don't name this to Boscawen, Isabel: I don't wish him to know my intentions." "Certainly not--that is, if I can keep it from him; but he manages to find out all my secrets. However, I will try to keep this all to myself." So did Mrs. Boscawen resolutely intend; but her secret transpired at the touch of her husband's mental wand. Mr. Boscawen began to talk of returning to Brierly, the very evening of the conversation which had taken place between his lady and Clara, and, after retiring for the night, he mentioned his intention of leaving Wetheral the following week. Isabel clasped her hands in alarm. "Oh, Mr. Boscawen, not so soon! must we return so very soon?" "Why not, Isabel? are you afraid of the dullness of Brierly?" "Yes--no," cried Isabel, "but I want to watch Clara, Mr. Boscawen: I want to observe something." "What is it all about?" asked Mr. Boscawen. "Is your sister engaged in some speculation, or has your mother decided upon any one whom your sister is decreed to captivate? I think I have stumbled upon the truth, Isabel, by your countenance." "How you find things out, Mr. Boscawen!" cried Isabel, blushing and hesitating; "you never allow me to keep a secret." "Then there _is_ one, Isabel. Have the kindness to admit me into the mystery: a wife should have no secrets." "Well, only promise not to tell," said Isabel, awed by her husband's grave manner and remark, "and I will not keep the secret to myself, though I promised to do so." "Who required the promise, Isabel?" Isabel became alarmed, and disclosed the plot upon Sir Foster. Mr. Boscawen listened in silence, and then coolly made his annotations upon the subject.