ould not
believe Mrs. Mansell at first; but I saw the boy, and he said you had
sent him yourself. My dear, you may mean, very rightly--I am sure you
do, but you must not set people talking! It is not acting rightly by
me, Isabel; but I would not care for that, if it were acting rightly by
yourself.' And he gazed at her with a piteous, perplexed expression.

'Let me call mamma,' said Isabel.

'As you will, my dear, but cannot you let the simple truth come out
between you and your own blood-relation, without all her words to come
between? Can't you, Isabel? I am sure you and I shall understand each
other.'

'That we shall,' replied Isabel, warmly. 'I have given her no promise.
Dear Mr. Mansell, I have wished all along that you should know that I
am engaged, with her full consent, to Mr. Frost Dynevor.'

'To the little black tutor!' cried Mr. Mansell, recoiling, but
recollecting himself. 'I beg your pardon, my dear, he may be a very
good man, but what becomes of all this scrambling over barricades with
the young Lord?'

Isabel described the true history of her engagement; and it was
received with a long, low whistle, by no means too complimentary.

'And what makes him come and hide in holes and corners, if this is all
with your mamma's good will?'

'Mamma thought you would be displeased; she insisted on taking her own
time for breaking it to you,' said Isabel.

'Was there ever a woman but must have her mystery? Well, I should have
liked him better if he had not given into it!'

'He never did!' said Isabel, indignant enough to disclose in full the
whole arrangement made by Lady Conway's manoeuvres and lax good-nature.
'I knew it would never do,' she added, 'though I could not say so
before her and Fitzjocelyn. My note was to tell them so: and look
here, Mr. Mansell, this is what Mr. Dynevor had already written before
receiving mine.'

She held it out proudly; and Mr. Mansell, making an unwilling sound
between his teeth, took it from her; but, as he read, his countenance
changed, and he exclaimed, 'Ha! very well! This is something like! So
that's it, is it? You and he would not combine to cheat the old man,
like a pair of lovers in a trumpery novel!'

'No, indeed!' said Isabel, 'that would be a bad way of beginning.'

'Where is the young fellow?--at Ebbscreek, did you say? I'll tell you
what, Isabel,' with his hand on the bell, 'I'll have out the dogcart
this minute, and fetch him home to breakfast