yet I was by no means a fop--of that I am fully
convinced, whether you are or not.

CHAPTER IV

Our party, on the 5th of November, passed off very well, in spite of Mrs.
Graham's refusal to grace it with her presence. Indeed, it is probable
that, had she been there, there would have been less cordiality, freedom,
and frolic amongst us than there was without her.

My mother, as usual, was cheerful and chatty, full of activity and
good-nature, and only faulty in being too anxious to make her guests
happy, thereby forcing several of them to do what their soul abhorred in
the way of eating or drinking, sitting opposite the blazing fire, or
talking when they would be silent. Nevertheless, they bore it very well,
being all in their holiday humours.

Mr. Millward was mighty in important dogmas and sententious jokes,
pompous anecdotes and oracular discourses, dealt out for the edification
of the whole assembly in general, and of the admiring Mrs. Markham, the
polite Mr. Lawrence, the sedate Mary Millward, the quiet Richard Wilson,
and the matter-of-fact Robert in particular,--as being the most attentive
listeners.

Mrs. Wilson was more brilliant than ever, with her budgets of fresh news
and old scandal, strung together with trivial questions and remarks, and
oft-repeated observations, uttered apparently for the sole purpose of
denying a moment's rest to her inexhaustible organs of speech. She had
brought her knitting with her, and it seemed as if her tongue had laid a
wager with her fingers, to outdo them in swift and ceaseless motion.

Her daughter Jane was, of course, as graceful and elegant, as witty and
seductive, as she could possibly manage to be; for here were all the
ladies to outshine, and all the gentlemen to charm,--and Mr. Lawrence,
especially, to capture and subdue. Her little arts to effect his
subjugation were too subtle and impalpable to attract my observation; but
I thought there was a certain refined affectation of superiority, and an
ungenial self-consciousness about her, that negatived all her advantages;
and after she was gone, Rose interpreted to me her various looks, words,
and actions with a mingled acuteness and asperity that made me wonder,
equally, at the lady's artifice and my sister's penetration, and ask
myself if she too had an eye to the squire--but never mind, Halford; she
had not.

Richard Wilson, Jane's younger brother, sat in a corner, apparently
good-tempered, but silent