"Sir Foster Kerrison pleases me; and, though my tastes may clash with others, I alone am judge of what will make me happy; therefore, I have resolved to marry Sir Foster, papa." Sir John's eyes were fixed upon his lady's face in silence. She read their expression, and shrunk under its deep meaning. A flood of tears fortunately relieved the painful sense of self-upbraiding, and proved a fruitful theme by which to evade the subject so galling to her husband's mind. "Really, Sir John, I am so enfeebled by constant flurry of mind, and my poor dear girls' marriages, that a word or a look throws me into fits of nervousness. I cannot imagine why you should stare at me in that odd way, when I never could endure a fixed gaze; particularly when my spirits are low, and my nerves so shaken." "Clara," said her father, calmly, "what events have led to your acceptance of Sir Foster? when did you accept him, and where have you met him since your sisters' nuptials? Tell me candidly how all this has happened." "Oh! yes, certainly, papa. Sir Foster has been visiting me here some time." "I never saw him, or heard of the visit, Clara," replied Sir John, mildly. "You are always in your study, papa. People seldom ask for you now," was Clara's observation, as she helped herself to preserved strawberries with perfect coolness of manner. "Gertrude," said Sir John, "you have concealed all this from me, and disobeyed my strong injunctions to allow no intimacy with Sir Foster Kerrison. Since my wife persists in opposing me, I cannot be surprised at a child defying me." "I never asked Sir Foster to Wetheral," faltered the lady; "his visits were not the consequences of any invitation from me; you have never seen him here, my love: I never ventured to ask him to dinner: I never held out an inducement to attract him here. It has been Sir Foster's own act and deed to propose to my daughter; and his calling occasionally was very natural, while Lucy staid with us. You brought him in yourself one day; but really all this violent altercation destroys my nerves, and undermines my health." Lady Wetheral sunk back in her chair, closed her eyes, and applied her vinaigrette. Sir John was silent for some moments, as if his thoughts and feelings were too powerful to produce utterance. Clara did not, or would not, perceive his emotion; she continued eating her biscuit and strawberries with calm unconcern, not at all disconcerted by the deep silence which followed her mother's speech. Sir John at length rose, and, with great solemnity of tone and manner, addressed his youngest daughter, who was seated a silent spectator of the whole scene.