"John, that unhappy woman is as mad as a March hare. I never can believe her sane, therefore, I bear with her. Let her abuse you and your friends; and allow her to speak whatever she thinks of aunty Pynsent, and I am sure you will become necessary to her. Her manners are so completely changed, that I am confident she is deranged, and it is no use quarrelling with mad people." "It is an extraordinary method of making oneself acceptable, Penelope. I am not sure I can endure to hear my friends abused, but I will endeavour to be pleasing, and you may be sure I shall 'creep in' after Christobelle. Once fairly admitted into the invalid's room, you need not fear my second dismissal." "Very well, I have no more to say, then. I will not relinquish Julia, as long as I can prevail upon her to remain at Lidham. She is enduring too much for human nature to bear. Farewell." Mrs. Spottiswoode then joined her friends. Sir John Wetheral pressed Mrs. Spottiswoode's hand, as he assisted her into the carriage. "Accept," he said, "the grateful thanks of a father for this kind and thoughtful step. May _you_ never be called to sorrows which your warm heart is seeking to alleviate in your friends!" Mrs. Spottiswoode returned the pressure. "I do not ask you to come to us very often, because I know you cannot exist long from Julia; but be sure you always bring good news with you from Wetheral. God bless you all!" CHAPTER XXXII. Lady Ennismore recovered some degree of tranquillity under the soothing influences of her friends, who congregated round her at Lidham, but her spirits never recovered their tone of elasticity. She met the Pynsents with severe distress, and struggled visibly for fortitude, as recollections of the past crowded to memory; but when that fearful interview was once effected, Anna Maria's society was productive of much good. Tom Pynsent was unchanged; he was the same excellent and honourable creature: he was an affectionate and valued husband; they appeared to be, and were, the happiest couple in the world. No wonder Anna Maria looked younger and handsomer than ever. Her heart was at rest. How warmly had her father spoken of Tom Pynsent's good qualities. Alas! _she_ had preferred splendid misery, and was now reaping a harvest of woe. She would not, dared not, think too deeply. Lady Ennismore could contemplate Mrs. Boscawen with unmixed satisfaction. She was changed in person, and improved in manner. Mr. Boscawen was proud of his lady; and how could he help it, since he was, in her eyes, the best and handsomest of created beings? It must be a new and delightful existence to the once alarming, grim-looking, though excellent, Mr. Boscawen.