“And about this, I am sure,” cried Marianne. “Papa and mamma, you know, just as they were going away, said, ‘If Mrs. Theresa asks you to come, do as you think best.’” “Well, then,” said Mrs. Theresa, “you know it rests with yourselves, if you may do as you please.” “To be sure I may, madam,” said Frederick, colouring from that species of emotion which is justly called false shame, and which often conquers real shame; “to be sure, ma’am, I may do as I please.” “Then I may make sure of you,” said Mrs. Theresa; “for now it would be downright rudeness to tell a lady you won’t do as she pleases. Mr. Frederick Montague, I’m sure, is too wellbred a young gentleman to do so unpolite, so ungallant a thing!” The jargon of politeness and gallantry is frequently brought by the silly acquaintance of young people to confuse their simple morality and clear good sense. A new and unintelligible system is presented to them, in a language foreign to their understanding, and contradictory to their feelings. They hesitate between new motives and old principles. From the fear of being thought ignorant, they become affected; and from the dread of being thought to be children act like fools. But all this they feel only when they are in the company of such people as Mrs. Theresa Tattle. “Ma’am,” Frederick began, “I don’t mean to be rude; but I hope you’ll excuse me from coming to drink tea with you to-morrow, because my father and mother are not acquainted with Lady Battersby, and maybe they might not like—” “Take care, take care,” said Mrs. Theresa, laughing at his perplexity: “you want to get off from obliging me, and you don’t know how. You had very nearly made a most shocking blunder in putting it all upon poor Lady Battersby. Now you know it’s impossible that Mr. and Mrs. Montague could have in nature the slightest objection to introducing you to my Lady Battersby at my own house; for, don’t you know, that, besides her ladyship’s many unquestionable qualities, which one need not talk of, she is cousin, but once removed, to the Trotters of Lancashire—your mother’s great favourites? And there is not a person at the Wells, I’ll venture to say, could be of more advantage to your sister Sophy, in the way of partners, when she comes to go the balls, which it’s to be supposed she will, some time or other; and as you are so good a brother, that’s a thing to be looked to, you know. Besides, as to yourself, there’s nothing her ladyship delights in so much as in a good mimic; and she’ll quite adore you!” “But I don’t want her to adore me, ma’am,” said Frederick, bluntly; then, correcting himself, added, “I mean for being a mimic.”