air, even
the dress itself, is diffused the unmistakable simplicity of a sincere
natural character. No doubt Mrs. Haughton has her tempers and her
vanities, and her little harmless feminine weaknesses; but you could
not help feeling in her presence that you were with an affectionate,
warm-hearted, honest, good woman. She might not have the refinements of
tone and manner which stamp the high-bred gentlewoman of convention; she
might evince the deficiencies of an imperfect third-rate education: but
she was saved from vulgarity by a certain undefinable grace or person
and music of voice,--even when she said or did things that well-bred
people do not say or do; and there was an engaging intelligence in those
quick hazel eyes that made you sure that she was sensible, even when she
uttered what was silly.

Mrs. Haughton turned from the interior of the room to the open window.
She is on the look-out for her son, who has gone to call on Colonel
Morley, and who ought to be returned by this time. She begins to get a
little fidgety, somewhat cross. While thus standing and thus watchful,
there comes thundering down the street a high-stepping horse, bay, with
white legs; it whirls on a cabriolet,--blue, with vermilion wheels; two
hands, in yellow kid gloves, are just seen under the hood. Mrs. Haughton
suddenly blushes and draws in her head. Too late! the cabriolet
has stopped; a gentleman leans forward, takes off his hat, bows
respectfully. "Dear, dear!" murmurs Mrs. Haughton, "I do think he is
going to call: some people are born to be tempted; my temptations have
been immense! He is getting out; he knocks; I can't say, now, that I am
not at home,--very awkward! I wish Lionel were here! What does he mean,
neglecting his own mother, and leaving her a prey to tempters?"

While the footman is responding to the smart knock of the visitor,
we will explain how Mrs. Haughton had incurred that gentleman's
acquaintance. In one of her walks to her new house while it was in
the hands of the decorators, her mind being much absorbed in the
consideration whether her drawing-room curtains should be chintz or
tabouret,--just as she was crossing the street, she was all but run over
by a gentleman's cabriolet. The horse was hard-mouthed, going at full
speed. The driver pulled up just in time; but the wheel grazed her
dress, and though she ran back instinctively, yet when she was safe on
the pavement, the fright overpowered her nerves, and she clung