be married."

"He would be a happy man that could convince your ladyship of that in
good earnest," said Mr. Winterblossom.

"Oh, who knows--the whim may strike me," replied the lady; "but
no--no--no;--and that is three times."

"Say it sixteen times more," said the gallant president, "and let
nineteen nay-says be a grant."

"If I should say a thousand Noes, there exists not the alchymy in living
man that could extract one Yes out of the whole mass," said her
ladyship. "Blessed be the memory of Queen Bess!--She set us all an
example to keep power when we have it--What noise is that?"

"Only the usual after-dinner quarrel," said the divine. "I hear the
Captain's voice, else most silent, commanding them to keep peace, in the
devil's name and that of the ladies."

"Upon my word, dearest Lady Binks, this is too bad of that lord and
master of yours, and of Mowbray, who might have more sense, and of the
rest of that claret-drinking set, to be quarrelling and alarming our
nerves every evening with presenting their pistols perpetually at each
other, like sportsmen confined to the house upon a rainy 12th of August.
I am tired of the Peace-maker--he but skins the business over in one
case to have it break out elsewhere.--What think you, love, if we were
to give out in orders, that the next quarrel which may arise, shall be
_bona fide_ fought to an end?--We will all go out and see it, and wear
the colours on each side; and if there should a funeral come of it, we
will attend it in a body.--Weeds are so becoming!--Are they not, my dear
Lady Binks? Look at Widow Blower in her deep black--don't you envy her,
my love?"

Lady Binks seemed about to make a sharp and hasty answer, but checked
herself, perhaps under the recollection that she could not prudently
come to an open breach with Lady Penelope.--At the same moment the door
opened, and a lady dressed in a riding-habit, and wearing a black veil
over her hat, appeared at the entry of the apartment.

"Angels and ministers of grace!" exclaimed Lady Penelope, with her very
best tragic start--"my dearest Clara, why so late? and why thus? Will
you step to my dressing-room--Jones will get you one of my gowns--we are
just of a size, you know--do, pray--let me be vain of something of my
own for once, by seeing you wear it."

This was spoken in the tone of the fondest female friendship, and at the
same time the fair hostess bestowed on Miss Mowbray one of those tender
caresses, whic