“Oh! she died just before the squire came to the property,” quoth the mother. “Poor thing! she was so pretty! I am sure I cried for a whole hour when I heard it! I think it was three years last month when it happened. Old Mr. Vavasour died about two months afterwards.”
“The afflicted husband” (said Mr. Bossolton, who was the victim of a most fiery Mrs. Boss at home) “went into foreign lands or parts, or, as it is vulgarly termed, the Continent, immediately after an event or occurrence so fatal to the cup of his prosperity and the sunshine of his enjoyment, did he not, Mrs. Merrylack?”
“He did. And you know, Mr. Boss, he only returned about six months ago.”
“And of what borough or burgh or town or city is he the member and representative?” asked Mr. Jeremiah Bossolton, putting another lump of sugar into his negus. “I have heard, it is true, but my memory is short; and, in the multitude and multifariousness of my professional engagements, I am often led into a forgetfulness of matters less important in their variety, and less—less various in their importance.”
“Why,” answered Mrs. Merrylack, “somehow or other, I quite forget too; but it is some distant borough. The gentleman wanted him to stand for the county, but he would not hear of it; perhaps he did not like the publicity of the thing, for he is mighty reserved.”
“Proud, haughty, arrogant, and assumptious!” said Mr. Bossolton, with a puff of unusual length.
“Nay, nay,” said the daughter (young people are always the first to defend), “I’m sure he’s not proud: he does a mort of good, and has the sweetest smile possible! I wonder if he’ll marry again! He is very young yet, not above two or three and thirty.” (The kind damsel would not have thought two or three and thirty very young some years ago; but we grow wonderfully indulgent to the age of other people as we grow older ourselves!)
“And what an eye he has!” said the landlady. “Well, for my part,—but, bless me. Here, John, John, John, waiter, husband I mean,—here’s a carriage and four at the door. Lizzy, dear, is my cap right?”
And mother, daughter, and husband all flocked, charged with simper, courtesy, and bow, to receive their expected guests. With a disappointment which we who keep not inns can but very imperfectly conceive, the trio beheld a single personage,—a valet, descend from the box, open the carriage door, and take out—a desk! Of all things human, male or female, the said carriage was utterly empty.
The valet bustled up to the landlady: “My master’s here, ma’am, I think; rode on before!”