"Will Lady Anna possess more sense than her sex?" asked Mr. Spottiswoode. "Will she relinquish three favourite tints to please?" "To please _you_, Charles, I dare say Lady Anna would renounce her darling colours--purple, yellow, and green. Can my dear pink and green be half so _prononcée_? Miss Wycherly, do speak for me! Charles always upholds Lady Anna's frightful combination." "I have not upheld Lady Anna, Sophy." "Yes, you always do, Charles. Every thing is Lady Anna now." Miss Wycherly's spirit could endure no more; she turned to Lady Spottiswoode. "We are embarked in this undertaking, and time is precious. If Sophy has settled her interesting topic, may I proceed to Hatton? Mr. Tyndal, Mr. Henry Tyndal, you must not lose sight of us; shall we proceed?" The lady was perfectly ready to resign the conversation; the Mr. Tyndals were already mounted, and Mr. Spottiswoode bowed his adieu. Miss Wycherly would not appear mortified and unhappy; she returned her lover's salutation with a bow and smile, which equalled his own in apparent indifference; and the party were quickly on their road. Miss Wycherly, as charioteer, had full occupation for her attention, and she was silent during the drive: her heart was heavy; and the fear of having lost Spottiswoode's affection weighed down her spirits and produced a mortal sorrow. Such was the consequence of a fault persisted in, because a false pride could not endure to own its transgression! Such was the suffering produced by a heart resolute to lose the man beloved, ere it would bend to acknowledge its weakness! Miss Wycherly forgot, in her own misery, the amusement she contemplated in observing her aunt Pynsent's conduct, when she received the visits of congratulation upon her son's intended marriage. In her misery, also, she did not immediately perceive Tom Pynsent and Miss Wetheral comfortably established in the Hatton drawing-room; or did she, for some moments, perceive the Ennismores and Julia also present; while Mr. Pynsent, smilingly and in high spirits, was chatting in turn to the individuals composing the circle, and calling for the congratulations of each person upon the event in prospect. Lady Spottiswoode gazed in astonishment at the sudden and powerful change: who could have surmised that the "empty, horrible Wetherals" were now to receive a thousand attentions and affectionate solicitudes from Mrs. Pynsent!--that "the bird from the Wetheral nest" was to be wooed to its gilded cage by all the gentle lures that Mrs. Pynsent could devise!--that sweet was henceforth to be bitter, and the bitter sweet! Lady Spottiswoode gazed, and gazed again.