ly
for the dinner-table and smoking-room. Such was Pansey Cottrell, as he
appeared to the general public, though he possessed an unsuspected
attribute, known only to some few of the initiated, and of which as yet
Lady Mary had only an inkling.

A portly well-preserved gentleman, with iron-grey hair, and nothing
particularly striking about him but a pair of keen dark eyes, he sits
in the window, listening with a half-incredulous smile to the voluble
speech of his buxom hostess.

"Well," exclaimed Lady Mary, in reply to some observation of her
companion's, "I tell you, Pansey" (she had known him from her
childhood, and always called him Pansey, as indeed did many other
middle-aged matrons)--"I tell you, Pansey," she repeated, "it is all a
mistake; the majority of young men in our world do _not_ marry whom
they please: they may think so, but in the majority of cases they marry
whom _we_ please. The bell responds to the clapper; but who is it that
makes the clapper to speak? The ringer. Do you see the force of my
illustration?"

"If I fail to see its force," he replied, "I, of course, perfectly
understand your illustration; and in this case Miss Blanche is of
course the belle, you the ringer, and Mr. Beauchamp the clapper."

"Just so," replied Lady Mary, laughing. "Look at Diana, my eldest.
She thinks she married Mannington; he thinks he married her; and _I
know I married them_. People are always talking of Shakespeare's
'knowledge of human nature,' more especially those who never read him.
Why don't they take a leaf out of his book? Do you suppose Beatrice
nowadays, when she is told Benedick is dying for love of her, don't
believe it, and that Benedick cannot be fooled in like manner? Go
to--as they said in those times."

"And you would fain play Leonato to this Benedick," replied Pansey
Cottrell. "Is this Beauchamp of whom you speak one of the Suffolk
Beauchamps?"

"Yes; his father has a large property in the south of the county; and
this Lionel Beauchamp is the eldest son, a good-looking young fellow,
with a healthy taste for country life; just the man to suit dear
Blanche admirably."

"And when do you expect him?"

"Oh, he ought to be here this evening in time for dinner," replied Lady
Mary. "He seemed rather struck with Blanche in London, so I asked him
down here for the Easter holidays, thinking it a nice opportunity of
throwing them more together."

"I see," replied Mr. Cottrell, laughing; "you