hen she most desired to produce effect; nay, even upon
ordinary occasions the name rose spontaneously to her lips--the name of
the Honorable Mrs. M'Catchley. Was the fashion of a gown or cap
admired, her cousin, Mrs. M'Catchley, had just sent to her the pattern
from Paris. Was it a question whether the Ministry would stand, Mrs.
M'Catchley was in the secret, but Mrs. Pompley had been requested not to
say. Did it freeze, "my cousin, Mrs. M'Catchley, had written word that
the icebergs at the Pole were supposed to be coming this way." Did the
sun glow with more than usual fervor, Mrs. M'Catchley had informed her
"that it was Sir Henry Halford's decided opinion that it was on account
of the cholera." The good people knew all that was doing at London, at
court, in this world--nay, almost in the other--through the medium of
the Honorable Mrs. M'Catchley. Mrs. M'Catchley was, moreover, the most
elegant of women, the wittiest creature, the dearest. King George the
Fourth had presumed to admire Mrs. M'Catchley, but Mrs. M'Catchley,
though no prude, let him see that she was proof against the corruptions
of a throne. So long had the ears of Mrs. Pompley's friends been filled
with the renown of Mrs. M'Catchley, that at last Mrs. M'Catchley was
secretly supposed to be a myth, a creature of the elements, a poetic
fiction of Mrs. Pompley's. Richard Avenel, however, though by no means a
credulous man, was an implicit believer in Mrs. M'Catchley. He had
learned that she was a widow--an honorable by birth, an honorable by
marriage--living on her handsome jointure, and refusing offers every day
that she so lived. Somehow or other, whenever Richard Avenel thought of
a wife, he thought of the Honorable Mrs. M'Catchley. Perhaps that
romantic attachment to the fair invisible preserved him heart-whole
amongst the temptations of Screwstown. Suddenly, to the astonishment of
the Abbey Gardens, Mrs. M'Catchley proved her identity, and arrived at
Colonel Pompley's in a handsome travelling-carriage, attended by her
maid and footman. She had come to stay some weeks--a tea-party was given
in her honor. Mr. Avenel and his nephew were invited, Colonel Pompley,
who kept his head clear in the midst of the greatest excitement, had a
desire to get from the corporation a lease of a piece of ground
adjoining his garden, and he no sooner saw Richard Avenel enter, than he
caught him by the button, and drew him into a quiet corner in order to
secure his interest.