Thorsby, who had already found himself at Letty’s side, whispered to her, “Deuced pretty are not some of these young Quakeresses? What health, what innocence in their looks—and yet, I can detect a certain arch wide-awakeness under all their apparent simplicity. And what an air some of them have, even in that quaint dress—why, I can see that in that gay unworldly costume, they cultivate—Fashion! Upon my word! yes, it is a fact. See the difference betwixt the dress of the elder ladies and theirs! As for Miss Heritage, she is really bewitching. Why, in her simple dark dress and little jaunty cap there is an indescribable elegance. Look at those clear, sunny, azure eyes, under those dark eye-lashes, and amid that raven hair. I don’t wonder that King George, in his younger days, ran away with a young Quakeress.” “Don’t you think,” said Letty, looking at him with a funny smile, “that you will be running off with one some day?” “Never!” said Thorsby, looking earnestly into Letty’s eyes. But there is a call to tea, and the company are taking their places, and we don’t yet know who there are. I see, however, Sir Emanuel Clavering, Mr. Thomas Clavering, the rector of Cotmanhaye, and Mrs. Clavering; Dr. Frank Leroy; a number of ladies and gentlemen from Castleborough, whom my readers would not know if I formally introduced them. There was that William Fairfax, the eminent grocer, by whom Mr. Woodburn seated himself. There was a tall, large, humorous-looking individual, a Mr. George Barthe, a Friend and dentist, celebrated throughout the neighbouring counties amongst the aristocracy for his skill and his droll sayings, Quaker as he was. Not far off sat a middle-sized, thin, elderly man, of a venerable but peculiar look, a Friend, named Mr. Ephraim Wire, reckoned a very great eccentric. Mr. Heritage, a tall, handsome man, very gentlemanly in his manners, and with a dark-brown suit of strictly Friends’ clothes, yet somehow very little differing from those of other gentlemen, was making himself agreeable to all present. Mrs. Heritage looked at once Quakerly and queenly, and was as cordially kindly smiling, and courteously hospitable, as if she never had breathed a word of omen in any sermon, or in any other way. She knew how to distribute her attentions to every one, and to make every one feel at ease and happy. She saw all seated under that ample canvas canopy, at that ample and luxuriously-spread tea-table, where a number of urns, at equal distances, were made the centres of attraction, by being officiated at by very sweet young girls in Friend-costume. Tom Boddily was actively waiting, and conveying cups of odorous tea or coffee with a dexterous celerity which showed old practice. With him were Sylvanus Crook, in his Quaker drab, and another Quaker serving-man, the very counterpart of Sylvanus, only nearly twice his height and size. He wore a drab suit of the very same cut as Sylvanus’s, grey stockings, and shoes with large square buckles. His