Mrs. Tyndal was accustomed to her companion's manly style of expression; so indeed was every family in the county. Mrs. Pynsent was tolerated in her youth on account of her large fortune; she was tolerated in middle-life as the mistress of Hatton; she was sought in her old age, as the mother of her son Tom. Thus Mrs. Pynsent passed through society without a single accomplishment, or even the attributes of a female, supported by the powerful shield of wealth, and feared for the determination of her sentiments and the coarseness of her remarks, by all her acquaintance. Separated from her masculine propensities, Mrs. Pynsent was a warm-hearted, well-meaning person, and many young people could bear witness, that if Mrs. Pynsent often offended their ears, or dealt a merciless blow at their vanity, she had also befriended them in their need, and in sorrow or sickness, there was none kinder, or more patient. Why Mrs. Pynsent spoke so bitterly against a "Wetheral" never could be divined; probably some early prejudice influenced her in deprecating the name. Mrs. Tyndal expressed surprise at Mrs. Pynsent's observation to her son. "Really, Mrs. Pynsent, I cannot agree with you in such very determined dislike to the Miss Wetherals. I think my sons might make a far worse choice than either lady present." "By Jove!" replied Mrs. Pynsent, shrugging her shoulders, "I hope Tom will never choose an empty doll from Wetheral: my brother Wycherly hinted to me the other day Tom had been disappointed of one of them, but I gave him my thoughts upon the matter: 'Bill,' I said, 'if any man could prove to me my son Tom had made an offer to a Wetheral, I'd kick him down stairs for his pains, and out of the Hatton grounds.' My brother Bill never renewed that subject!" Mrs. Tyndal glanced towards Anna Maria, who was still engaged in conversation with Tom Pynsent, and a smile passed over her face. Mrs. Pynsent caught the smile and look. "Oh, you need not think about Tom in that quarter!" she observed. "Tom knows I hate the name." At that moment Miss Wetheral and her companion joined the dancers. "Your son distinguishes Miss Wetheral to-night," said her friend, with rather more _espièglerie_ than their friendship warranted. "Not a bit of it; I don't believe a word of it." At that instant her eye caught Tom dancing with all his might, and she beheld his _vis-à-vis_ exchanging smiles with him: her colour rose. "By Jove! he's dancing with her a second time, and there's that superannuated father of his, looking on! Wouldn't any one think Mr. Pynsent was staring at a puppet-show? I'll take the old gentleman home." Mrs. Pynsent rose for the purpose of joining her husband, who was enjoying the apparent gaiety of his son. Lady Wetheral joined her at that most inopportune moment, and began a subject most offensive to her feelings.