"I will say what is true, if it proves disagreeable," replied Clara, withdrawing her hand from Anna Maria's light grasp, and again pointing attention, by a graceful movement, to Sir Foster, who sat silently winking his eye. "If there is a creature born to be a blessing to woman--patient, gentle, and interesting--look at _that_ man." Sir Foster winked violently. Anna Maria bent towards Lady Kerrison. "Hush, my dear sister; do not offend Sir Foster, I beseech you; pray do not attract people's notice. My dear Clara, forbear!" "Nay, he is attractive enough in himself," observed Lady Kerrison, in raised tones; "no words of mine can exalt him higher among the brute creation, than he stands by nature." Mrs. Tom Pynsent became alarmed at her sister's audacity, and she signed to her husband, who was seated by Mrs. Tyndal, to join the little circle. He advanced immediately. "Well, my little wife, what are you wishing? The dear Count is not here, is he? therefore you want _me_ among you." "Now, be quiet, Tom." Mrs. Tom Pynsent looked round to discover a disengaged chair: her husband saw the inquiring look, and he seated himself upon the carpet. "Well, now, what was I summoned for?" "My dear Tom," replied his lady, smiling, "I particularly wish you to give me your opinion upon matrimony before the young ladies here assembled." "_My_ matrimony, if you please," observed Lady Kerrison--"you are requested to take a comprehensive view of _my_ matrimony." She looked haughtily towards Sir Foster, who sat within hearing. "There sits my animal: shall we decide upon the species?" "Hush, Clara, hush!" softly whispered Mrs. Tom Pynsent. "My dear Lady Kerrison!" burst from the lips of Miss Wycherly. "Every one has a name and a place," continued Lady Kerrison, heedless of all caution and counsel. "Pray, Tom Pynsent, assert your opinions as plainly as I do mine, and tell me what a mother deserves, who weds her young and unsuspecting child to a brute, without contemplating her fate in prospect? Pray, Tom Pynsent, what is the conclusion of that fate? Will it rest in dull misery, or will the indignant spirit burst its fetters?" Tom Pynsent affected ignorance of Lady Kerrison's meaning: he saw Miss Wycherly and Lucy Kerrison cast looks of alarm at Sir Foster, who was winking very rapidly; he saw, also, tears springing to the eyes of his wife--something must be done: he rose hastily. "Anna Maria, this is a very _English_ party, to your little trumpery, new-set taste! Your French Count would have lectured you for sitting so long in one spot. Come, Chrystal, and Lucy, let us have a round game or a country-dance. Who will play us a country-dance? Pen, rattle the keys for us."