chfield in
her maiden days, and loaded with substantial joints, succeeded by
delicacies manufactured by herself and Lucy.

As to the horse, Charles was fairly satisfied, but 'that fellow,
young Oakshott, had been after him, and had the refusal.'

"Don't you be outbid, Mr. Archfield," exclaimed the wife. "What is
the matter of a few guineas to us?"

"Little fear," replied Charles. "The old Major is scarcely like to
pay down twenty gold caroluses, but if he should, the bay is his."

"Oh, but why not offer thirty?" she cried.

Charles laughed. "That would be a scurvy trick, sweetheart, and if
Peregrine be a crooked stick, we need not be crooked too."

"I was about to ask," said the Doctor, "whether you had heard aught
of that same young gentleman."

"I have seen him where I never desire to see him again," said Sir
Philip, "riding as though he would be the death of the poor hounds."

"Nick Huntsman swears that he bewitches them," said Charles, "for
they always lose the scent when he is in the field, but I believe
'tis the wry looks of him that throw them all out."

"And I say," cried the inconsistent bride, "that 'tis all jealousy
that puts the gentlemen beside themselves, because none of them can
dance, nor make a bow, nor hand a cup of chocolate, nor open a gate
on horseback like him."

"What does a man on horseback want with opening gates?" exclaimed
Charles.

"That's your manners, sir," said young Madam with a laugh. "What's
the poor lady to do while her cavalier flies over and leaves her in
the lurch?"

Her husband did not like the general laugh, and muttered, "You know
what I mean well enough."

"Yes, so do I! To fumble at the fastening till your poor beast can
bear it no longer and swerves aside, and I sit waiting a good half
hour before you bring down your pride enough to alight and open it."

"All because you _would_ send Will home for your mask."

"You would like to have had my poor little face one blister with the
glare of sun and sea."

"Blisters don't come at this time of the year."

"No, nor to those who have no complexion to lose," she cried, with a
triumphant look at the two maidens, who certainly had not the lilies
nor the roses that she believed herself to have, though, in truth,
her imprudences had left her paler and less pretty than at
Winchester.

If this were the style of the matrimonial conversations, Anne again
grieved for her old playfellow, and she perceived that Lucy l