concern
to me. He was orphaned, to be sure, at ten years old; and ever since he
has been only as it were his sister's son. Dorothy did everything for
him: more indeed than I thought quite ladylike, but I suppose I begin to
be old-fashioned. See how she worked and slaved--yes, slaved!--for him:
teaching him herself, with what pains and patience she only could
reveal, and learning that she might be able; and see what he is now: a
gentleman, of course, but, to be frank, a very commonplace one: not what
I had hoped of Dorothy's brother; not what I had dreamed of the heir of
two families--Musgrave and Foster, child! Well, he may now meet Mr.
Austin. He requires a Mr. Austin to embellish and correct his manners.
(_Opening another letter._) Why, Barbara, Mr. John Scrope and Miss Kate
Dacre are to be married!

BARBARA. La, madam, how nice!

MISS FOSTER. They are: as I'm a sinful woman. And when will you be
married, Barbara? and when dear Dorothy? I hate to see old maids
a-making.

BARBARA. La, Miss Evelina, there's no harm in an old maid.

MISS FOSTER. You speak like a fool, child: sour grapes are all very
well, but it's a woman's business to be married. As for Dorothy, she is
five-and-twenty, and she breaks my heart. Such a match, too! Ten
thousand to her fortune, the best blood in the north, a most
advantageous person, all the graces, the finest sensibility, excellent
judgment, the Foster walk; and all these go positively a-begging! The
men seem stricken with blindness. Why, child, when I came out (and I was
the dear girl's image!) I had more swains at my feet in a fortnight than
our Dorothy in----O, I cannot fathom it: it must be the girl's own
fault.

BARBARA. Why, madam, I did think it was a case with Mr. Austin.

MISS FOSTER. With Mr. Austin? why, how very rustic! The attentions of a
gentleman like Mr. Austin, child, are not supposed to lead to matrimony.
He is a feature of society: an ornament: a personage: a private
gentleman by birth, but a kind of king by habit and reputation. What
woman could he marry? Those to whom he might properly aspire are all too
far below him. I have known George Austin too long, child, and I
understand that the very greatness of his success condemns him to remain
unmarried.

BARBARA. Sure, madam, that must be tiresome for him.

MISS FOSTER. Some day, child, you will know better than to think so.
George Austin, as I conceive him, and as he is regarded by the world, is
one of the tri