"My dear, how can I come with this foot? A pretty trinket, isn't it, to present before a bride?--There's a neat foot to trip among the bridesmaids to the altar!--I'm only fit for Lea, Pen, but you can tell me all about it." Mrs. Pynsent drew up her face and eyes into a comic expression of astonishment, as she contemplated her sister's foot, veiled from the public gaze in the recess of a large list shoe. "Well, Sally Hancock, you gave a good price for it. There's a hundred thousand pounds' worth in that hovel of a shoe. Every farthing melted into your stomachs. It was sure to tell upon you, some day." "We can't eat our cake and have it," observed the jolly Mrs. Hancock; "but it wasn't _all_ spent in eating and drinking. Hancock and myself lost more than half at play. It didn't all go in eating and drinking, Pen. Poor Hancock was very violent when I was unlucky, but he thought nothing about his own losses." "You would have him, Sally Hancock." "Well, I was as resolute as yourself in the matter of Bob Pynsent, Pen; but all the Wycherlys were a rum set--must, and would have their own way. Give Tom credit for a slice of the family disorder, and pocket the affront." "How my lady will hector, and compliment, and courtesy!" shuddered Mrs. Pynsent. "Never mind my lady! When is it to take place?" "Oh, I don't know; I was in such a fury, I asked no questions." "Tell Tom I will congratulate him, if he will come and see me." Mrs. Hancock winked her eye. "Tom never will come near you till you leave off your broad jokes, Sally Hancock. I wish you would not offend people in that way. I can't ask you among ladies and gentlemen." "Lord, Pen, how can I leave off old habits at my time of life?" Mrs. Hancock put her finger to her eye and looked innocent. "Then Bobby and Tom will never visit you, or allow me to ask you to Hatton for more than one day. That's all you get by old habits, Sally Hancock." "Tom is mighty nice; I wouldn't give a farthing for such a nephew." "I'll trouble you not to abuse Tom, Sally Hancock," cried her sister, who was touched on a most sensitive point by this remark. "Tom is always right, and his mother will always uphold him. You must have a very genteel dialect, when two gentlemen cannot sit in your society comfortably." "When shall I see you again? don't be scolding, Pen; I'm not used to scolding, now poor Hancock is gone." "I'll come to Lea, as soon as Tom's affairs are settled, but never call Tom names before me, Sally Hancock; you know I cannot bear it. Tom shall marry too if he pleases, and no one shall offer an opinion against the match before _me_." "Nor before me either," cried Mrs. Hancock. "Before _you_! who ever comes before you, except myself?" asked Mrs. Pynsent, stopping short, as they were advancing towards the door, at which the pony-carriage was drawn up.