"Oh, brother, the very worst thing my sister could take! No, don't eat a cream, sister." "I think," said Sir John, "as the parent of five children, I will undertake to answer for the innocence of the cream. Lady Wetheral fancied many extraordinary things, and did not suffer from their effects. I should be inclined to give Isabel that cream, Boscawen." Mr. Boscawen appeared pleased by an opinion of some weight and experience, which coincided with his own wish to gratify his young wife: he accordingly ordered the cream to be reinstated on her plate. Isabel ate of it greedily. "Oh, brother!" exclaimed Miss Boscawen, "sister will be so ill!" Mr. Boscawen, however, enjoyed the eagerness and satisfaction with which Isabel devoured her cream. "Poor thing, poor thing!" he uttered, in a low tone, as Isabel laid down her spoon, and exclaimed, "How excellently good that was!" "It will do you no harm, my love," said her father, as he watched her with great interest; "I will answer for your not suffering any unpleasant effects." "Oh! Sir John," exclaimed Miss Boscawen, "creams are such very indigestible things! I am sure sister will be very poorly; indeed, brother, sister will be ill." Christobelle now understood the meaning of poor Isabel's distress, when she complained at Wetheral, that only Miss Tabitha was to preside over her confinement. Miss Boscawen did indeed watch over her with jealous care, and, like Don Pedro Snatchaway in Sancho's suite, she allowed her victim neither to eat nor drink in peace. When the ladies retired from the dining-room, Miss Boscawen fidgeted about Isabel's seat. She was not to sit near the window--it was cold; she was not to sit near the fire--it was hot: the sofa was not quite the thing, and the chairs might make her uncomfortable. Poor Isabel looked at her sister in despair. Miss Boscawen was equally alarmed when Isabel offered to walk round the flower-garden with Christobelle. "Oh! sister, the sun is setting, and you will take such a cold! you have eaten a cream; pray don't take cold upon it." The walk was given up; Isabel would chat about Wetheral. "Now, sister, don't talk much just after your dinner; nothing does so much harm to the constitution, and so completely prevents digestion." Well, then, they would all take a little nap. "Won't you get very fat, sister?" asked Miss Boscawen, as she saw Isabel preparing to lie down upon the sofa; "sleep fattens very much." Isabel, however, made her preparations, and composed herself to sleep. Christobelle sat by her with a book which she had taken from one of the tables. Miss Boscawen sat down to her worsted frame, and rang for candles. They were some time silent, when Isabel started up and exclaimed she was extremely unwell. Miss Boscawen looked horrified. "Oh! sister, that cream! I knew you would be ill." "I cannot tell the reason, but I am very ill. Send for Mr. Boscawen, Chrystal." Isabel looked very pale, and was unable to rise from the sofa.