Tom Pynsent kissed the little hand which enforced silence, and held it in his own capacious palm. Anna Maria drew her chair closer to her husband, and, leaning her head against his side as he stood near, continued her discourse. "Upon my word, papa, I liked Paris dearly, but Tom complained of this, and disliked that. He would not eat his dinner, because it was stewed frogs; he said he would not eat frogs--he would not drink sour wine--he would not do any thing to be comfortable." "I wanted to come home in a fortnight," said Tom, still playing with his lady's hand; "but my little wife would not listen to me. De Nolis and herself led me a pretty dance, I can tell you. Hang me, if I understood their jargon in Paris, and I only knew Jack Smith, and Tom Biddulph, to talk with. Spottiswoode was at Florence; De Nolis jabbered away every where with my wife; while I and Jack amused ourselves with quizzing Biddulph. My wife had never any leisure to write home, or talk to _me_." "My dear Tom!" "No, I vow you were always laughing and talking with that French fellow, and his cursed broken English." "But who ever saw me without _you_, Tom? and what pleasure should I have had, if you had not been close to me?" Anna Maria clasped her husband's hand with an air and manner so affectionate, that all hearts present felt assured of her domestic happiness. Her father's expressive face became enlivened, and Mrs. Pynsent almost involuntarily gave Anna Maria a startling slap upon her shoulder, as she cried,-- "I'm a happy woman, since my Tom is loved by us all alike. I tell you what, young woman, I fancied you could not love my son, because you did not remain to witness his delight with the hounds; but now, I see you _do_ love him, though you will never understand his old mother's fondness." Anna Maria started at the blow, but she held out her hand to Mrs. Pynsent, and assured her every one must love Tom who lived with him. He had lingered in Paris against his will to please _her_. He had suffered every disagreeable annoyance in silence to give _her_ satisfaction; and Tom had never objected to any whim or amusement required by herself. How then could she do otherwise than love him beyond every earthly creature? Tom Pynsent looked all astonishment during the dialogue which passed between his wife and mother. It did not occur to him that his Anna Maria's love was less sincere than his mother's affection: and as to his wife's recapitulation of his virtues, "Who the devil married a woman unless he meant to indulge her?"