"Well, you are all come to say pretty things to me," said Mrs. Pynsent, addressing the newly-arrived party, "and you are all moonstruck!--not a word from one of you: why, Pen, you are all of a heap!--Well, Tyndal lads, what have you to say?--here am I, full of bustle and happiness. Tom is going to get married at last, and he has made his old mother happy. We are all happy. I tell Bobby he ought to fall down and worship Miss Wetheral, for taking Tom--but here, just come this way, Lady Spottiswoode." Mrs. Pynsent lowered her voice.--"I didn't much like the idea of a Wetheral, once, you remember; but that's all ended--we won't remember old grievances." "Certainly not," replied her ladyship--"one has often reason to discard opinions." "To be sure--can't be for ever harping upon one string." She turned to her niece. "Why, you look as if you had lost your love. What's the matter, woman?--cheer up. Get a good husband, Pen; and don't pay these sort of visits with such a long face!" Miss Wycherly could not command a portion of the ever-ready spirits which had never failed her before; her mind was too oppressed, even to make an effort. Her aunt's observations were unheard or unnoticed, as she turned towards her cousin Tom, who came up, red-faced and happy, to demand her felicitations. "All right, at last, Cousin Pen: all fears and tribulations are over. There is nothing like fair dealing, and I have won a wife, after a devilish sharp run, though a short one. Now say something in your own fashion upon it, Cousin Pen; something, as Spottiswoode says of you, sharp, short, and sensible." Miss Wycherly put her hand to her eyes, and, for a few moments, she made no reply. Tom Pynsent believed the trembling of her hands proceeded from fatigue. "I have told you, Cousin Pen, a woman should not drive four-in-hand; it's something out of reason. A pair is very pretty handling; but your little figure perched upon a box, with four horses, won't answer. Your hands are all in a shake, now." "Let Pen alone, Tom," said Mrs. Pynsent. "My niece is a Wycherly, and the Wycherlys never gave in till they were fairly under ground." "I am ill, aunt; very ill--a glass of water; any thing just to revive me; my heart is bursting." Miss Wycherly became unable to speak, and the company surrounded her, offering every species of condolence and remedy. A glass of water was procured, and the cold sparkling draught refreshed her. She felt that an effort must be made; and it was made under sickness of heart and prostration of mind, but the effort had a beneficial effect, for it roused the sufferer from a blighting sense of misery to the recollection of present events, and she was enabled to smile and speak to her cousin with some degree of coherence. "Tom, I do wish you happy, and I suppose I am fatigued, for I have driven fourteen miles, but I never was so ill before."