Isabel one morning stole away from her heavy volume of Rapin, to look over the wardrobe of the two brides, which had arrived from town, and were hung in magnificent array in their apartments. Miss Wycherly and Miss Spottiswoode were also sitting in judgment upon their beauty of make and material, and the whole female population of Wetheral were admitted to admire and wonder over the costly arrangement. Isabel's eyes sparkled at the sight, and, with true girlish delight, she examined and applauded each article as it attracted her notice. "Oh, Julia, this satin is yours, I am sure! Yes, that is Lady Ennismore at a first glance; how very beautiful! Ah, Julia! I hope you will wear it oftener than I have worn my pretty blue silk: I shall wear it on your wedding-day, and that will be only the second time of its appearance upon any stage. I dare say it will look old-fashioned now compared to yours. One small flounce, you see--how pretty! my blue silk has no flounce." She passed on to the case which contained the jewels presented to Julia by Lady Ennismore. "Well, Julia, this _is_ a sight! how very sparkling and brilliant! I wonder how often you will wear them? Mr. Boscawen does not like me to wear the beautiful brooch papa gave me; he says it is attending to the outside of the platter instead of the inside, and then he said something in Greek or French, I don't know which; but my poor ornament was laid up in silver paper again. I hope Lord Ennismore will let you dress handsomely, Julia." "I never cared much about dress, Isabel," said Julia; "if dear Augustus dislikes dress, I shall renounce it very willingly." "Would you, indeed? Ah! but you are very fond of Lord Ennismore, and he likes every thing you do and say: so did Mr. Boscawen once. Oh, Anna Maria, this muslin dress, worked so divinely! One comfort is, Tom Pynsent will let you wear muslin and satin by day and by night, if you choose to do so. Lord Ennismore I know nothing about, but I _do_ know my old partner Tom's good-nature. How I wish Mr. Boscawen was like Tom Pynsent! Mr. Boscawen is very kind, though: I am sure he never contradicts me in any thing, but he talks me into his measures, which is just the same thing. I never could argue; and if I did, Mr. Boscawen talks so many languages, I could never argue against them all. How I have been talking!--I could almost fancy myself unmarried. What was that?--a bell? I must run away, or Mr. Boscawen will find me a truant when he returns." "See here, Isabel," exclaimed Miss Wycherly--"here is a poplin sweetly trimmed; don't run away!" "My dear, I must; don't tempt me; I am sure that was Mr. Boscawen's bell, to ask where I was. It is airing time, and I dare say my prison-house is at the door." Away flew Isabel, in alarm, lest her husband should have perceived her flight from the dressing-room. "Delightful specimen of matrimony!" observed Miss Spottiswoode.