ly made a
listener to one or other of these suppositions.

One bright, mild, March day, Hester and Margaret were accompanying
Philip to Mr Rowland's to call on Mrs Enderby, when they met Mr
Rowland in the street,--returned the evening before from Cheltenham.

"Ladies, your most obedient!" said he, stopping up the path before them.
"I was on my way to call on you; but if you will step in to see Mrs
Enderby, we can have our chat there." And he at once offered his arm to
Margaret, bestowing a meaning smile on Hester. As soon as they were
fairly on their way, he entered at once on the compliments it had been
his errand to pay, but spoke for himself alone.

"I did not write," said he, "because I expected to deliver my good
wishes in person so soon; but they are not the less hearty for being a
little delayed. I find, however, that I am still beforehand with my
neighbours--that even Mrs Enderby does not know, nor my partner's
family. All in good time: but I am sorry for this mistake about the
lady. It is rather awkward. I do not know where Mrs Rowland got her
information, or what induced her to rely so implicitly upon it. All I
can say is, that I duly warned her to be sure of her news before she
regularly announced it. But I believe such reports--oftener unfounded
than true--have been the annoyance of young people ever since there has
been marriage and giving in marriage. We have all suffered in our turn,
I dare say, though the case is not always so broad an one as this.--
Come, Mr Philip, what are you about? Standing there, and keeping the
ladies standing! and I do believe you have not knocked. Our doors do
not open of themselves, though it be to let in the most welcome guests
in the world. Now, ladies, will you walk in? Philip will prepare Mrs
Enderby to expect you up-stairs; and, meanwhile, let me show you what a
splendid jonquil we have in blow here."

The day was so mild, and the sun shone into the house so pleasantly,
that Mrs Enderby had been permitted to leave her chamber, and establish
herself for the day in the drawing-room. There she was found in a
flutter of pleasure at the change of scene. Matilda's canary sang in
the sunshine; Philip had filled the window with flowering plants for his
mother, and the whole room was fragrant with his hyacinths. The little
Greys had sent Mrs Enderby a bunch of violets; Phoebe had made bold,
while the gardener was at breakfast, to abstract a bough from the almond